Good Enough
by Lament
Summary: While working on a case, Nick battles his own ghosts. NickGreg pairing. Chapter 24 is up.
1. The Victim

Title: Good Enough

Pairing: Nick/Greg

Warnings: This story will eventually contain slash. If male/male relationships bother you, you shouldn't read this. Also, this story contains mention of suicide.

Author's Notes: I haven't seen enough Nick onscreen, so this story is decidedly Nick-focused. Also, it's really angsty and dark.

Disclaimer: They're not mine. I'm not making any money.

Chapter 1

* * *

I narrow my eyes at the couple standing next to Jim Brass. They're about forty, well-dressed, and from the looks of the house, fairly affluent. The woman has blonde hair, and her husband has dark, graying hair. The man has his arms draped protectively around his wife's shoulder. They both look pretty shaken up. Not that I blame them. Earlier tonight, they came home from an evening out to find their seventeen-year-old son dead from an apparent suicide. 

Exhaling, I trudge toward the couple. I nod at Brass and hold my hand out to the husband. "Sir. Ma'am," I say.

"Mr. and Mrs. Kincaid," Brass says, motioning to me. "This is Nick Stokes from the Las Vegas Crime Lab."

Mr. Kincaid shakes my hand. "Thank you for coming." He sounds like I've dropped by for a cocktail party.

"Would you mind answering some questions?" I ask.

"Of course," Mr. Kincaid says, his voice a little shaky.

I clear my throat. "Thank you. Mr. and Mrs. Kincaid, did you notice Daniel behaving differently this evening than he usually does?"

The husband shakes his head. "No," he says. "No differently than usual."

I nod. "Was he alone tonight?"

"Of course," Mr. Kincaid says. "He was studying for a physics test."

Mrs. Kincaid takes her husband's hand. "We told him he should take a break, come out to eat with us."

"But he was just so…" Mr. Kincaid closes his eyes. "Daniel was dedicated to school. He was graduating."

"He'd applied to Stanford. He wanted to be a scientist."

"He was a bright boy."

"Yes, sir," I say. "Is it possible he had someone over to study with?"

"No," Mr. Kincaid frowns. "We generally don't allow company when we're not home."

Mrs. Kincaid nods in agreement. "He was home alone."

"Do you think someone broke in?" Mr. Kincaid says, grimacing.

I glance at Brass, who just stares blankly at me. "We're trying to find out exactly what happened," I say. "Mr. and Mrs. Kincaid, was your son depressed?"

"Absolutely not," Mr. Kincaid says impatiently.

"Our son wouldn't hurt himself," Mrs. Kincaid says. She looks intently at me, as if daring me to disagree.

"What else can you tell me about Daniel?" I ask.

"He was hard-working," Mrs. Kincaid says, wiping her eyes. "He was such a good boy. Popular, dependable, courteous."

"Always doing things for people," Mr. Kincaid says. "Didn't cause us a speck of trouble."

"Did he mention anything he was looking forward to?" I ask. "Like a concert or anything like that? Future plans?"

Mrs. Kincaid looks at her husband. "Dear, there was that sporting event."

"Daniel was going to a football game in Los Angeles with his best friend," Mr. Kincaid says. "It's all he's talked about."

"And college," Mrs. Kincaid reminded us. "Daniel was looking forward to college."

I nod. "Who was Daniel's best friend?"

"Cody Briers. They were in Honors English together."

"Sir," I say. "Ma'am. Thank you for your help. I'm sorry for your loss."

Brass motions for an officer to take the couple aside to answer additional questions. Then he turns to me. "What do you think?" he asks.

I let out a breath. "Well, from the sounds of it, we're looking into the death of the world's perfect child."

Brass just shakes his head. "Every parent has the number one kid in the world after they're gone."

"I don't know," I say. "Sounds like they put him under a lot of pressure."

Brass shrugs. "Ah, they don't have a lot of perspective right now."

"Nah," I sigh. "I know parents like that. The kid was probably born in a pressure cooker."

Brass cocks his head at me. "You know people like that, huh?"

I grin. "Grew up with two of 'em."

* * *

Finished with the interview, I leave Brass and head to find the rest of the team. Grissom isn't happy with me. I managed to show up to the scene late. He hasn't said anything about it yet, but even while he was telling me to go talk to the mom and dad, he kept shooting me _that look_. Entering Daniel Kincaid's bedroom, I take a deep breath, and then exhale. "Hey guys. What should I do?" 

"We're about done, Nick," Grissom says, not looking up.

"Look, Gris," I say. "I'm sorry about being late. I ran into an accident."

"That's okay, Nick."

"It's just, you know, I had to take a detour."

Grissom looks at me for the first time since I entered the room. "It's okay, Nicky. How did things go with the parents?"

"Well," I say, my eyes scanning Daniel's desk. "They said he had some big plans. He's applied to college."

Sara walks up to me. "Could that be Mom and Dad's doing?"

"Maybe. Sounds like this kid had a lot of expectations thrown on him." I look around the room. Academic awards sit on the dresser, and a couple of football posters hang on the wall, but other than that, there's not a lot of personality. I look over at Sara, who is packing up her gear. "This kid leave a note?"

Sara shrugs. "Well, somebody did. It was printed out and left next to the computer. No signature."

I raise my eyebrows. "Mom and Dad are convinced he didn't kill himself. They figure a break-in."

"Well," Grissom says, wearing that half-smile he gets when he's discovered something, "They're not altogether wrong."

"This is no suicide?"

"No sign of a break-in," Grissom says, pulling himself to his feet. "But this kid had help getting to the other side."


	2. Problem Number 1

Title: Good Enough

Chapter 2

* * *

"Hey Greggo." 

Greg glances up at me from whatever he's doing. "Hey Nick!" he says, cheerfully.

"Busy?" I ask. Greg's usually up to his eyeballs in work.

Grinning, he holds up a folded piece of notebook paper. "Perfecting my origami skills."

"Greg," I laugh. "That's not gonna help you get out in the field."

"You never know." He leans forward, so close I can feel his breath on my face. "Have you brought me some goodies?"

Trying my best to ignore the flush that's starting to spread across my cheeks, I hold up two bags. "This one is a sample from the kid we're working on. And this is a soda bottle we found at the scene. We need you to test it for DNA and contaminants. How soon can you get it done?"

"Always rushing," Greg says, shaking his head. "But for you," he points. "I'll start right now."

I swear, sometimes I think the guy is flirting with me. I should stop kidding myself.

"Nick?"

"Yeah, Greg?"

"If I'm going to dazzle you with my magic, you have to give me the evidence."

I look at my hands, both still clutching the evidence bags. "Sorry, man. Spaced out on you."

Frowning, Greg asks, "Want to talk about it?"

"No," I say, a little too quickly, as I turn and walk out of the lab. "I'll catch you later."

The last person in the world I want to talk to about my problems is Greg, considering Greg is Problem #1 on my list of troubles.

Greg and I are close friends, the closest. We hung out a lot until a couple months ago. At that point, I realized I felt something other than friendship for Greg. I mean, I knew I was attracted to him. I've known that for a while, and it's not like I've never been attracted to another guy before. That's been happening to me for years. Attracted I can handle. I always do. But these feelings… They're so intense. And to be honest, they're freaking me out.

I can't imagine Greg feeling the same way about me. But even if, but some fantastic stretch of the imagination, he did, I couldn't act on it. Both my parents would have strokes. And then there are my co-workers and associates to think about. I can just imagine telling somebody like Jim Brass that I'm trading Valentines with another guy, and co-worker, no less.

Tugging my bottom lip, I chance a look over my shoulder. Greg is leaning against the counter, still staring at me. He doesn't have a clue what's going on. He probably thinks I'm mad at him or something. I feel like a jerk for hurting him, but I just couldn't bear to see the look on his face if he ever realizes what's going on inside my head.

* * *

After grabbing some lunch from the deli, I walk into the lounge and plunk myself down at the table. "Hey, Sara," I say wearily. Reaching into the bag, I pull out a sandwich. 

Sara looks up at me from her newspaper, and then tosses the paper onto the table. "Hey, Nick," she says, peering at my lunch. "Tuna salad?"

I nod. "Yeah. And coleslaw and two chocolate chip cookies. Want some?"

"I'll take a cookie."

Sliding a cookie over to Sara, I say, "So what's up with the kid?"

"Well, his next door neighbor says he had a visitor right after Mom and Dad left."

"Yeah? So what, the visitor forced Kincaid to swallow a bottle of sleeping pills?"

She shrugs. "You're assuming that's what killed him." Crossing her arms, Sara gazes intently at me. She looks like she's about to scold me for something. "So," she says. "You were late."

I take a drink of cola. "Sara, I've been over this with Grissom."

"Was it really an accident?"

_My life is an accident_, I think.

"Yeah, Sara," I say, letting out a breath. "I ran into an accident on the highway, and the batteries in my cell were dead, so I couldn't call." Of course, I was late to a scene last week, too. I didn't have a good excuse for that one, and Sara knows it.

"Calm down," she says, her voice a little softer. "I was just asking."

I rub my eyes. "Sorry," I say. "I'm a little sleep-deprived right now."

I don't know what's been wrong with me lately. I can't seem to snap out of this…whatever it is. I can't blame it all on the situation with Greg. Even though Greg is Problem # 1, he's followed by a whole laundry list of stuff. If I don't get a handle on my personal life pretty soon, I'm going to wind up in Grissom's office explaining my lack of responsible behavior.

"Well," Sara says. "Just be careful. We're both up for promotions. You don't want to wind up on Grissom's list."

I shrug. "Probably already on it. I can't seem to do much of anything right as far as Grissom is concerned."

She narrows her eyes. "Just keep cool around him."

"Like you?" I half-smile. Sara has her own issues with Grissom.

She gazes at me. "Do as I say. Not as I do."


	3. Conversations

Title: Good Enough

Chapter 3

Author's Notes: Spoilers for "Overload."

* * *

"I've been meaning to call you, Mom." 

When I got home from work, there was a message from my mother on the answering machine. So, like a good son, I called her back. Big mistake.

"We were starting to wonder if you were alive, honey," my mom says, in a long-suffering voice.

"Well," I say patiently, "you know, with my hours."

"Yes, honey. I know about your hours." She pauses. "You could change shifts."

Shaking my head, I open the refrigerator. "Actually, I like the one I'm on." This is an old argument. One of many my mom and I have.

"It's just that we miss talking to you, Nick. Honestly, I was starting to wonder if you were avoiding me."

_Not a thing to eat in the house_, I think.

I start to rifle through the take-out menus. "Now, Mom, why would I be avoiding you?" She's right, though. I have been avoiding her. I went to Texas for a visit a few weeks ago, and we had a disagreement. Well, actually it didn't get that far. My mom chose to ignore the issue completely.

"I feel like you were upset when you left," she says.

You think?

I let out a breath. "I'm fine."

Lately, I haven't been a hundred percent, so I took a few days off and went to see my mom and dad. I've been trying to work through some stuff for a while now. I guess I figured the best way for me to do that was to face my problems head on. When I was a kid, my mom left me with a last-minute baby sitter, and to make a long story short, the sitter did some things to me. I'd locked that secret away for a long time, but it got dredged up when I was on a case a while back. I told Catherine about it, and telling her helped. But ever since then, it keeps coming back to me. Every time I'm on a case involving child abuse, or if I see something on the news. So, while I was in Texas, I had the bright idea to try and tell my mom what happened to me. She didn't want to hear it.

"Nick," Mom says, "Have you considered transferring back to Texas?"

_Not on my worst day_, I think.

"Not really, Mom." I glance over my shoulder when I hear the doorbell. "Hang on Mom. Someone's at the door."

I hurry over to my front door, thankful for the interruption. Opening it slightly, I find Greg standing on the other side. Greg and a pizza. "Hey," I say, breaking into a grin.

"I come bearing food," Greg says.

"I'd like to kiss you right now," I say.

Greg smiles broadly. "I knew you'd admit it someday," he says.

Grinning, I avert my eyes. The only times I can say what I'm really feeling is when I'm being a smart ass.

"Is somebody there?" Mom asks.

"No, Mom," I say. "I've finally snapped, and I've started talking to myself."

She sighs. "You don't have to be flip."

Taking a step backward, I let Greg into the house. "Come on in here, man."

"It doesn't sound like your hours prevent you from having a social life," Mom says.

"Mom," I groan. "He works with me. We keep the same hours."

"I should call my mom," Greg mutters. "Right after that root canal I've been meaning to get."

Fighting back the urge to laugh, I say, "Look, Mom, I got company, so I'm going to let you go."

"Wait a minute honey," Mom says. "I've been meaning to ask you. Did you get that promotion?"

"Not yet, Mom."

"Hey, Nick," Greg calls from the kitchen. "You got any soda?"

"Yeah, look—"

"Never mind. I found it."

"Why not?" Mom asks.

I frown at the phone. "What do you mean why not?"

Greg walks into the room. "I'm sticking the pizza in the oven to warm it up."

"Cool," I say.

"Why haven't you got that promotion?" Mom prods. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

I look at Greg, who's leaning comfortably against the archway that leads into my kitchen. _Loads_, I think to myself.

"Listen," I say out loud. "I'm going to let you go."

"Nick, you haven't answered my question."

"I'm hanging up." I place the receiver back onto the cradle and cross my arms. "Greggo, let's eat."

* * *

"So, are you gonna talk to me or what?" Greg asks. 

I glance up from my current slice of pepperoni and sausage pizza. "About what?"

He stretches his arms and crumples a napkin. "You know. Whatever was bothering you today. Or the past few months."

"I'm sorry about today," I say. "I've been tired."

"Oh, don't give me that excuse," he says severely.

I stare at him. Greg doesn't usually raise his voice, so when he does, I pay attention.

He shifts his body so that he's sitting closer to me. "You've been snapping at people, Nick. You've been depressed."

"I'm not depressed."

He ignores me. "You were late to a scene today."

"There was an accident," I protest.

"You were late for a scene, what, last week?"

I exhale. "And every CSI has been late to a scene at one time or another."

"But it's not like you."

"And how do you know?" I almost spit the question at him.

"I'd like to think I know you pretty well," he says quietly.

We sit, not speaking for I don't know how long. Then Greg puts a hand on my shoulder and rubs the muscle. It feels good, so I lean into it.

"Look," he says. "I'm just a little concerned. Not to mention confused. I mean, you act edgy around me, and I don't know why." He glances at the ceiling. "Although I have a couple of theories."

My breath hitches. "What theories?"

He licks his lips and opens his mouth to say something. Then, abruptly, he pulls his hand away. "Ah, what does it matter? We're fine, aren't we?"

"You and me?" I shrug. "Yeah, we're good."

"Okay, cool." He shifts uncomfortably. "So, why waste time with my theories?"


	4. Investigation

Title: Good Enough

Chapter 4

* * *

After Greg went home, I crashed and tried to get some sleep, but I woke back up three hours later. Which is why I'm sitting in the lounge, feeling and looking half-dead. 

"Hi, Nick!"

I glance up at a well-rested Grissom. "Hey," I say blearily.

"You all right, Nick?"

I rub my eyes and yawn. "I didn't get much sleep last night. I haven't been sleeping too well."

He cocks his head at me. "Try listening to classical music while you're falling asleep."

Grissom is chock full of practical information on all kinds of things. If you have a problem with insects or a scratch on your car, chances are Grissom can tell you what to do. He likes to solve problems with neat, little solutions. But he's clueless when it comes to personal stuff.

Taking the chair opposite me, Grissom scoots a file across the table. "Coroner's report for Daniel Kincaid came back."

"Cause of death?"

"He died of cranial injuries."

"So," I say, trying to work the whole thing out in my fatigue-worn brain. "Kincaid fell and hit his head after the pills started taking effect?"

Grissom leans back. "Well, according to Greg, Daniel Kincaid took a few pills. But not enough pills to kill him."

"Wait a minute," I say, sitting up. "Sara said the bottle was empty."

Just then, Sara walks in. "What did Sara say?"

"Pills didn't kill Daniel Kincaid," I say. "But you told me that the bottle was empty."

"And," Grissom holds his index finger up. "It was a brand new bottle."

I frown. "So, where are the pills?"

"Good question. Maybe the killer flushed them. "

Fighting back a yawn, I say, "So it was staged to look like a suicide."

Crossing her arms, Sara says, "Well, that was obvious by the position of the body and the way the note was written."

"And I would've figured that out if I'd been there on time," I say before Sara has a chance to.

"Nick," Grissom says. "You were late. It happens." He narrows his eyes. "If you want to obsess about something, obsess about who killed Daniel Kincaid." Without waiting for me to respond, he glances at Sara. "Sara? What've you got for us?"

Sara looks at me, and then lets her eyes drift to Grissom. "I talked to some of Daniel Kincaid's teachers. Apparently, he'd been depressed and moody. His grades were dropping. He was having trouble concentrating."

"Sounds like typical behavior of a suicidal person," I say.

"Yeah," Sara nods. "_And_ he was getting into trouble. Mouthing off at teachers. Skipping school. He almost got expelled last week, but his teacher took mercy on him. Sounds like our perfect kid wasn't so perfect after all."

"They usually aren't," I say. I didn't mean to snap, but I guess it came out that way, because both Sara and Grissom are staring at me. Looking down at the table, I exhale. "So what now?"

Grissom scoops the coroner's report off the table. "Why don't you and I pay a visit to Cody Briers?"

* * *

When we arrive at Cody's house, Mrs. Briers leads us back to her son's room. "I kept him at home today," she says over her shoulder. "He's so upset." 

"What can you tell us about Daniel, ma'am?" I ask.

"Oh, he was a wonderful young man. Cody and Daniel have been best friends since they were in first grade." We pass a photo of Kincaid and a teenaged boy I assume to be Cody. "This was four years ago. The boys had just won a school award for a conservation project they designed themselves."

I smile.

"Honey?" Mrs. Brier knocks lightly on Cody's door. Pushing the door open, she says, "There are some people here to talk to you."

Cody has all the lights in his room turned off, so it's pretty dark. He's got some kind of unintelligible rock music blaring from the stereo. "What?" he says.

"These men are from the Las Vegas Crime Lab."

"Crime Lab?" Cody flips on a lamp.

"It's about Danny." She picks up a sweatshirt that had been thrown onto the floor. "Honestly, Cody. You know how to pick up after yourself."

Cody stares at his mother. "You said Danny killed himself."

I take a step forward. "We're trying to figure out what happened. We'd like to ask you a few questions."

"'kay."

Grissom nods. "Were you with Daniel the night he died?"

A look of panic flits across Cody's face. "Why?"

"You have a red car?"

"Can you tell me why you need to know that?" Mrs. Briers asks.

Grissom turns to the woman. "Someone with a red car visited Daniel the night he died," he says.

Cody sits up on the side of his bed. Pulling at the bottom of his t-shirt, he says softly, "Yeah, I was there. I mean, but I didn't stay."

"You were supposed to be at the library," Mrs. Briers says severely.

I glance around Cody's bedroom. Like Daniel's room, it is decorated with a whole lot of academic awards. A family photo rests on the table next to his bed. Looks like Cody comes from a big family. Scattered throughout the room are various pieces of sports memorabilia and some music posters. I frown. This could be my old bedroom.

"Why don't you tell us what happened," Grissom says.

Cody shrugs. "I went over. We were supposed to have this big physics test."

"You went to study?"

Cody smiles guiltily. "We took a break. I brought take out, so we had dinner."

"That would explain why you weren't hungry," Mrs. Briers says.

Grissom lets out a breath. "What else happened?"

"Nothing." Cody shifts on his bed. "Well, we had a fight."

"Did things get physical?"

"An argument," Cody says sharply. "We had an argument."

Undeterred, Grissom says, "Did the argument get physical?"

"No," he snaps. "Why?"

I'd better take over before Grissom totally alienates this kid. Clearing my throat, I say, "Cody, man, we're just trying to piece together what happened. We're not accusing you of anything."

Cody narrows his eyes at me and just stares at me for a few seconds. "It was just an argument. We didn't get into a fistfight or anything. It wasn't physical."

"Okay," I say. "How long did you stay?"

"I went to his house at 5:00." He glances at his mother. "I guess I stayed a couple hours."

Mrs. Briers has been standing off to my side with her arms crossed tightly. She's not happy with us or her son. "He was back by 8:00," she says. "My husband got home at 8:30, and Cody was home before he was. Now, if you will excuse us, gentlemen. My son has homework."

* * *

As Grissom and I walk to the car, he turns to me. "So what do you think?" 

I glance back at the house. "I think he's telling the truth."

He reaches for the driver's side door. "Well, the coroner has the time of death at 9:30. Kincaid was killed instantly. If Cody and his mother are telling the truth, Cody didn't do it."

I shake my head. "Things don't add up."

"What things?"

"I don't know. Just a feeling." I fasten my seatbelt. "Daniel Kincaid's parents were putting a lot of pressure on him. I'm getting the same feeling from Cody's mom."

Grissom looks at me as if he's waiting for me to make a point. Unfortunately, I don't have one to make.

I shrug. "I don't know. There's just something else going on."


	5. One Hundred Percent Perfect

Title: Good Enough

Chapter 5

*****

I've been avoiding Greg for two days.  Usually, I can suck it up and talk to him at work.  But ever since his visit to my place the other day, I've been a nervous wreck every time I see him.  And to make things worse, I'm pretty sure Greg has been avoiding me, too.

I had to find out from Sara that the DNA from the soda bottle we found at the scene was not a match to Daniel Kincaid.  

Cody Briers' dad confirmed that his son was in the house when he arrived home from work at 8:30 the night Daniel Kincaid died.  Even so, we asked Cody to come down and give us a sample of his DNA.  Not that it would prove much.  We know he was in the house.  So, Mr. Briers brought his son in.  As it turns out, he has the same sunny disposition as his wife.

I can't help but notice how unhappy Cody Briers seems to be.  I don't know.   Maybe I'm projecting.  It's just that he reminds me so much of myself as a teenager.  His mom and dad are too much like my folks for comfort.  

I should probably stop overanalyzing the situation with Cody.  I should concentrate on the victim.  

Speaking of dads, mine called and read me the riot act for hanging up on my mom.  I apologized like a good son, and then listened to my dad tell me all about my sisters and their wonderful lives.

Sometimes I don't know why I bother.

Letting out a breath, I step into the lab.  "Hey, Greg," I say.

Greg flinches slightly, startled.  "Hey, Nick."  He keeps his eyes glued to the counter.

"Do you have the results back on that DNA?"

Greg darts his eyes up, and then quickly turns his back to me.  He snatches a paper from the table beside him, spins back around, and hands the paper to me.  "No match."

"So," I say awkwardly.  "Daniel's parents said he didn't get much company."

"Well, he had some company at some point.  That DNA doesn't match anyone I've tested."

Greg leans against the counter, shifting uncomfortably.  Great.  Now he's jumpy around me.  Before he left my place the other day, Greg was being pretty cryptic.  Said something about having "theories" about why I act weird around him.  He must've figured out how I feel about him.  Damn.  This I do not need.

"Nick," Greg says suddenly.

"Yeah?"

He licks his lips and crosses his arms.  "I, uh, I wanted to talk."

My muscles tense.  "About what?"

"The other night."

No. No. No.  "What about it?"

At that point, Warrick walks in.  "Hey, Nick," he says.  Turning to Greg, he says, "Got something for me, Sanders?"

Greg looks like he's going to be sick.  "No.  No, I'm on it."  He glances at me, and then starts processing Warrick's evidence.

Warrick narrows his eyes at me.  "No offense, Nick.  But you look terrible."

"Thanks, man," I say.  

"You all right?"

I exhale.  "Why the hell do people keep asking me that?"

He crosses his arms. "Because you've been out of it for weeks."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"  I know perfectly well what he means.  I've been losing my grip, and people are starting to notice.

"It means you've been walking around in a fog.  It means you've been snapping at people."  He frowns.  "I heard you snapped at a tech today."

"He's never snapped at me," Greg says over his shoulder.

Warrick smiles.  "There are other techs, Greg."

Greg turns around.  "Nick, you've been cheating on me with another tech?"  Almost as soon as the words come out of his mouth, a look of panic washes across Greg's face.  He turns his back to me.  

Well, that confirms my suspicions.  Greg knows how I feel about him, and he's freaked out about it.

I can feel the blood rushing to my cheeks.  Swallowing, I say, "I didn't snap at anyone.  We had a slight disagreement."

Warrick nods.  "A slight disagreement that ended with you telling the guy he's an incompetent."

I look down at the ground.  "It slipped out."

I chance a look at Greg, who still has his back to me.  I don't know what I'm going to do now.  How can I ever face him again?  I can't stand to see that disgusted look on his face.

"Well, you've had 'slight disagreements' with other people, Nick."

I look up. "What?"

Warrick is staring at me.  "Now, see.  That is what I'm talking about.  People talk to you, and you just space out on them."

I shake my head, trying to snap myself back to reality.  "I was thinking about something."  

Greg has turned back around, and now he's staring at me, too.

"This just isn't like you," Warrick says.

I laugh bitterly.  "This isn't like me?  What the hell do you know?"

Warrick takes a step toward me.  'Look, Nick—"

I plunge on.  "Maybe this is exactly like me.  Maybe I'm not one hundred percent perfect, like everyone thinks."  I'm shaking now, and my breath is haggard.  

Clenching my jaw, I turn and bolt out of the room, and run headlong into Grissom.

Grissom reaches out and places one hand on each shoulder, steadying me.  "Whoa," he says.  He looks over my shoulder at Warrick, who has followed me out of the lab.  "Is something wrong?"

Warrick sighs.  "No," he says.  Then he looks at me, as if to tell me our conversation isn't over.  

Grissom narrows his eyes at me.  "Is everything okay, Nicky?"

No, Gris, I think to myself. I hardly sleep. I can't measure up to anyone's expectations of me. Not yours.  Not my parents.  I'm slipping up at my job.  And the icing on top of the whole mess is I'm in love with my male best friend, who's freaking about it.     

Yeah," I say.  "Everything's one hundred percent."


	6. Guidance

Title: Good Enough

Chapter 6

*****

Mrs. Ling, the guidance counselor at Daniel Kincaid's school, leans forward and narrows her eyes at me.  "Mr. Stokes," she says, in a throaty voice, "We keep a very strict eye on our students."

I try to smile.  "I'm sure you do, Mrs. Ling.  I'm just trying to find out what's been going on in Daniel Kincaid's life."

Turning her dry lips into a thin, forced smile, Mrs. Ling blinks several times, and then opens a file.  She's a creepy-looking woman.  There just isn't a better way to say it.  She's wearing a pair of tiny, rectangular-shaped glasses, and her hair is wrapped into a stiff bun.  A piece of costume jewelry dangles off her long, bony wrists. I can't imagine a 17-year-old feeling comfortable enough to confide in her about their problems.  I'm feeling pretty unnerved just sitting here. 

I glance at Brass.  He's standing across the room, trying to be inconspicuous.  

Brass and I came here today to interview a girl named Molly Cooper.  Turns out, she's Daniel Kincaid's girlfriend.  Mrs. Cooper wanted to be here when we spoke to her daughter, so we're enjoying the company of Mrs. Ling while we wait.

Clearing her throat loudly, Mrs. Ling says, "Daniel had normal problems."

"Such as?" I say.

"He was upset with his parents."

"Why?"

She blinks at me.  "He said they put too much pressure on him."

"Was this a regular complaint?"

Mrs. Ling starts to tap her nails against Daniel Kincaid's open file.  "He mentioned it several times."

"And did you speak to his parents?"

"Of course not."  She breaths loudly.  "Mr. Stokes, Daniel was applying to college.  This is a stressful time.  And you'd be hard-pressed to find a teenager who doesn't think their parents expect too much of them."

"Did Daniel ever talk about suicide?"

"That's irrelevant.  Daniel was killed by a robber or something."

I laugh hoarsely.  Apparently, she's been talking to Mr. and Mrs. Kincaid after all.  

I can feel the muscles in my neck starting to tighten. "We're trying to figure out what happened, Ma'am." 

Brass finally walks over to stand beside my chair.  "Mrs. Ling," he says, calmly, "Daniel spent most of his time at this school.  He was a student.  He attended sporting events.  He attended dances.  He belonged to clubs.  He was here more than he was at home." 

Mrs. Ling blinks at us.

Brass lets out a breath.  "This school was his life.  Chances are, the person who caused his death is here, too."

"Are you implying that one of my students—"

A knock at the door cuts Mrs. Ling off.  A secretary opens the door and says, "Mrs. Cooper is here."

Mrs. Ling frowns at Brass, and then me.  "Send them in."

A teenager with reddish hair walks into the room, followed by an attractive blonde.  Mrs. Ling gestures toward two chairs, so the Coopers sit down.  They look nervous.

I stand up and hold my hand toward them.  "Mrs. Cooper.  Miss Cooper."

Molly smiles when I call her "Miss."  

Then Brass introduces himself.  After we've all exchanged pleasantries, I return to my chair, and Brass, who shoots a cautious look toward Mrs. Ling, lowers himself into a seat beside me.

"Molly," he says.  "I understand you wanted to talk to us."

She nods.  "I don't know if I have anything that will help."

I smiles encouragingly.  "Well, just tell us what you know.  The more we know, the better we can do our jobs."

"Well," she says softly.  "I'd been kind of worried about him."

"How so?" Brass asks.

"He's been up and down.  We've been seeing each other for about a year."  She pauses.  "He started getting depressed and moody about five months ago.  At first, it was just little stuff.  But then, he started saying how he couldn't do anything right and he just didn't know why he bothered."

"Did he ever talk about hurting himself?"

Molly glances at her mother, who nods.  The teenager reaches into her purse and fishes out a package of tissues.  "Yeah.  I was afraid he was going to kill himself."

Mrs. Ling makes an audible choking sound.

Wiping her eyes, Molly says, "I overheard Danny talking to Cody—he's our friend—about this game they were going to in California."

I nod.  "What about the game?" 

"Daniel said they weren't coming back."  She crosses her arms.  "He said they were going to go out in style."

"What happened?"

"I confronted Danny after Cody left.  We got an argument, and Danny said he just couldn't take it anymore.  His parents and stuff.  So, I told him he should tell my mom.  He said he'd think about it."

"He never did," Mrs. Cooper says.  

"The next day, he came up to me after Psych and told me he was being stupid.  He said it was just talk."  Molly stands up and begins to pace.  "I guess I wanted to believe him.  I went up to Cody, and he pretty much said the same thing.  That it was just talk.  So, I didn't say anything."

"When was this, Molly?" Brass asks.

"Uh—three weeks ago.  Last week, I started worrying about them again.  Cody more than Danny.  Cody's been out of it.  But I was worried about both of them, so I finally told my mom."

"I called both of their parents," Mrs. Cooper says, her voice trembling.  "Mr. Kincaid said he was sure Danny was fine, but he'd talk to him.  When we heard the news about Danny, well…"  She trails off.  

We sit there in awkward silence until Brass scoots forward in his chair. "Molly," he asks.  "Was Daniel involved in anything else that worried you?"

"You mean like drugs?"  She asks.

Daniel Kincaid's body came up negative for all drugs, except the sleeping pills.  

"That or anything," Brass says.

"He drank a little.  That was unlike him."  She wipes her eyes.  "For a while, I thought there might have been another girl."

"Oh?" I say.

She nods.  "There's this girl.  She's in his English class.  I don't know."

"What's her name?" Brass asks.

Molly grimaces.  "Natalie?  I'm not sure.  She's not exactly in my social circle."

I look up at Mrs. Ling.  "Could you get us a list of the female students in Daniel's English class?"

"Of course," she says nastily.

"Molly, you've been very helpful," I say.  

"Thanks," she smiles feebly.  "Please find out what happened."

"We're doing our best."

"Mr. Stokes," she says.  "Is someone keeping an eye on Cody?  I mean, I've already lost Danny."

*****

Brass and I walk into headquarters.  I haven't said much since we left Daniel's school.  I've been turning the situation over and over in my head.  I knew something was going on.  Daniel and Cody were on the edge, just like I thought.  The problem is Daniel didn't kill himself.  He may have wanted to, but somebody beat him to it.  

Before we left her office, Mrs. Ling said she'd call the Briers and talk to them about their son.  I doubt it'll do much good.  I know people like the Briers.  The last thing they want to hear is that their perfect son is flawed.  

"You okay, Nicky?"  Brass asks, slapping one hand on my shoulder.

I hold my breath.  I'm getting sick of people asking me that.  The thing that bothers me the most is that I know I'm not okay, but there's no way I can talk about it.  I can't talk about Greg.  That's a big no-brainer.  And I can't talk about what happened when I was a kid.  Only Catherine knows about that.  And everything else that's wrong in my life…well, I just sound like I'm whining.

I sigh.  "I've had better days, Jim.  But I'll be okay."

I sneak a look toward Greg's lab as Brass and I walk past.  Greg is standing there, talking to Catherine and Warrick.  He glances at me, shakes his head, and then turns back to Catherine and Warrick.  

Damn.

I exhale, and walk toward the lounge.  Dropping myself into a chair, I lay my head on the table.  My head aches so bad I feel like it'll explode anytime.  I'm glad it's almost time to go home.

I hear Brass pull out a chair and sit across from me.  

"You ever think about it?"  He asks.

"Think about what?" I say, not raising my head.

"You know."

I lift my head up.  "You mean…it?"

"Yeah."

He means suicide.  

I cover my face with my hands.  "Have you?"

"No," he says quickly.  "No. You?"

This is a conversation I definitely don't want to have.  To be honest, I guess I have thought about it.  Not a lot, and I don't think I'd really do it.  But I have thought about it.  If Brass finds out I've thought about ending my life, even for a moment, I'll be in a shrink's office so fast I won't know what hit me.

Fortunately, I'm spared having to answer when Sara walks in.  "What's up?" She says.

"You know what?" I say.  "I'm feeling a little sick.  Headache."  I stand up.  "I'm going to hit the bathroom."  Brass and Sara are looking at me, but I leave before they have a chance to stop me.  

I crash through the bathroom doors, turn faucet on full blast, and splash some cold water on my face.  My head's still throbbing.  

How did I get to this point? I think, gazing at myself in the mirror.  Why is everything in my life going wrong at the same time?

Suddenly, the bathroom door swings open.  Jumping slightly, I glance over my shoulder. Catherine is standing just inside the room, looking very much like she belongs here.

"Hey, Nick."

"Hey," I say.  "Catherine, why are you in the men's room?"

"Because you're in the men's room."

I close my eyes.  Oh no.  They've called in the big guns.

Catherine is the one who handles the emotional stuff around here.  She can even handle Grissom.  

"Come on," she says.  "Shift's over. Let's go grab something to eat.  You want breakfast stuff?"    

I'm not in the mood for this.  "I'm going to head home to bed."

"Great," Catherine says, undeterred.  "We'll get take out and head to your place.  Then you can tell me what's been going on with you."

"I don't feel like talking."

"Too bad," she says.  Grabbing me by the wrist, she leads me out the door. "You're going to talk to me.  It's not optional."


	7. One Thing

Title: Good Enough 

Chapter 7

*****

 "I hope they build another gas station," Catherine says, taking a bite off a breakfast burrito.

"What?"  I say, frowning. 

She looks at me like I'm an idiot for not knowing what she's talking about. "Where they're knocking down the Mexican restaurant.  Down the street from headquarters. I hope they put up a gas station."

Catherine and I have been at my place for 45 minutes.  And still, she hasn't tried to get me to talk.  She dragged me back here to emote about the problems I've been having. But she just keeps rambling on and on about trivial things.  

I take a bite of toast. "I heard they're going to build a donut shop."

"My thighs will appreciate that," she says.

I smile, then I sigh, "Look, Catherine…"  As soon as I open my mouth, I realize I don't know what to say, so I let my voice trail off.

"Yeah, Nick?"  Catherine says, putting down her breakfast burrito.

I take a sip of orange juice and run my finger along the rim of the glass.  "I'm getting tired."

"Yeah, you haven't had much sleep," she says, conversationally.

I shrug.  "No, not much."

"Did you ask Grissom for a home remedy?"

I laugh, and it almost sounds genuine.  "No, but he gave me one."

She smiles.  "I usually can't sleep when something's bothering me, either."

"Yeah, I don't know.  I just stare at the ceiling, thinking."

"Just thinking about your problems?"

"Pretty much."

Catherine moves from her chair to the sofa, so she's sitting next to me. "So, you _are _having problems?  And here you were telling almost everybody you were fine." 

Damn.  She tricked me. 

"Look, Catherine.  I know you're trying to help."  I take a sip of orange juice.  "But I can manage."

She looks me in the eye. "Nick, you've gotta give me something."

"Catherine, I'm sure you got stuff going on in your life, too."

"I do."

"Well, then why do I have to talk about _my_ problems? Talk about _yours_."

She grins mischievously.  "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."

I roll my eyes.  

"Look," she says seriously.  "You've _got_ to give me something."  When I don't answer her, she says.  "One thing, Nick.  Give me one thing."

Catherine's going to sit here until she wears me down.  "One thing?" I raise my eyebrows skeptically.

"One thing," she confirms.  "Just get _one _thing off your chest." She pauses for a few seconds, takes a bite of her food, and then adds, "If you don't tell me something, I'll go to Grissom and have you taken off this case and sitting in the department shrink's office by the beginning of shift tomorrow."

I stare at her. I'm pretty sure she means it.  

Sighing, I slump back.  The muscles in my neck and shoulders are killing me. There's one thing I can only talk to Catherine about.  So, I guess that's the one thing she's going to hear.  "Remember what I told you about me and the babysitter?"

She reaches over and takes my hand.  "Yeah."

"Well, I've been thinking about that a lot."

"Have you ever thought about talking to a therapist?"

"No," I say a little too quickly.

Instead of launching into a lecture about how I need closure, Catherine just nods.

"I did, however, decide to tell my mom."

Catherine squeezes my hand.  "How did it go?"

"Well, I went to Texas, and I tried to tell her face-to-face.  But, as soon as she figured out what I was trying to tell her, she shut me down."

"Oh, Nick," Catherine says, sympathetically.

I stare at the coffee table because I just can't look Catherine in the eye.  "She changed the subject.  When I tried to tell her again, she told me to leave things be."

Catherine scoots closer and puts an arm around my shoulders.  "Honey, I'm sure she just reacted."

I feel my shoulders tense up painfully.  "Don't try to make excuses for her."

"I'm not.  I'm just saying that she's your mother.  If I found out something like that about my child…"

"Catherine, you're a good mother.  My mom isn't."

"Nick, she raised a good son.  I'm guessing she wasn't that bad."

"You don't know what it was like to live under that much pressure."  I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks.  "My mom shut me down because she knows I'm tainted now.  I'm not the perfect son."

Catherine hugs me with the arm she has around my shoulders.  With her other hand, she wipes a finger against my cheek.

I raise my own hand to my face, and realize for the first time that I'm crying.  Not a lot.  There's just a few tears streaking down my face.  But I'm still crying.  Embarrassed, I try to pull away.  

Catherine hangs on, actually pulling me closer.  She reaches down a takes my hand again.  "It's okay to cry.  I think you have a right."

I bite my lip, trying my best to hold back the tears, but it's useless.  Without warning, moisture floods my eyes, and soon, I'm sobbing in Catherine's arms.  It feels pretty good.  I've been holding a lot in, and this is the first time I've really been able to let go.

After a few minutes, I sit up and wipe my face with the ball of my hand.  Catherine crosses the room to the kitchen and reemerges with a box of tissues.  I pull a couple out and clean myself up.  

Catherine puts an arm back around me.  "Feel a little better?"

"Yeah, actually."

"Everybody's been really worried about you."

"I know."

"Greg's a mess."

I frown.  Great, I think.  I've made him a mess.

"I said some things," I say guiltily.

"Whatever's going on between the two of you—if you had fight or whatever's happening—you need to talk to him."

"I can't."

She lets out a breath. "I don't know what he said, but it can't have been that bad.  You know Greg."

"He didn't say anything," I confess.  "It was me."

She frowns.  "He thinks he said something to freak you out."

"What?"  I narrow my eyes.

"I don't know.  He said you've been avoiding him."

I have, but…"

"He said he said something he shouldn't have said, and that you freaked."

Now I'm confused.  Is he afraid he overreacted when he found out about my feelings?  Maybe he doesn't care, and I just misinterpreted things.  Or maybe we're talking about something different.

"Nick," Catherine says. "He really cares about you.  And you know how Greg is.  He's probably sitting at home worrying himself to death about you."

For a moment, I think about telling her about my feelings for Greg.  But then I chicken out.  

Swallowing, I say, "He's really not mad at me?"

"Just worried about you, and scared he did something to hurt you."

I need some time to think. Maybe my friendship with Greg isn't over.  I put my arms around Catherine and hug her.  "Thanks Catherine," I say.  "I'm gonna go to bed, if you don't mind.  You can hang out here.  Just lock up when you go."

She grabs me by the wrist.  "You know, he'd probably still be up."

I lick my lips.  "I'm too tired to make any sense.  I'll talk to him tomorrow."

Maybe.

Catherine grins.  "Do that, Nick.  Talk to him."

I narrow my eyes, trying to read her expression.  For a minute, I almost think she knows how I feel about Greg.  And that she approves.


	8. Confrontation

Title: Good Enough

Chapter 8

*****

As I walk into the CSI headquarters, I'm a nervous wreck.  For one thing, I know everyone will be paying extra-close attention to me after my blow-up with Warrick and Greg the other day.  And I'm sure Catherine has already given them an update on their troubled co-worker.  

Grissom, though . . . I don't know if he's even noticed what's been going on with me lately.  Probably not.  Unless I really screw up, he pretty much ignores me.  I really don't need him to start second-guessing me while we're on this case, but it would be nice for him to pay attention.

The main reason I'm nervous is Greg.  Catherine says he's not mad at me, but I won't feel better until I talk to him.  I'm in love with him.  I can admit that to myself now without completely losing it.  Telling _Greg_ how I feel is a different matter entirely.   If I don't tell him about my feelings, though, I think our friendship will collapse.  We can't keep worrying about hurting each other.  It's making us both nuts.

I round the corner to Greg's lab, and stop short.  He's not there.  

_Okay_, I think to myself._   He's probably sitting in the breakroom_. 

Taking a deep breath, I head that way.  When I get there, only Warrick and Sara are there.

"Hey," I say, a little uncertainly.

"Hey," Sara says pleasantly.  I recognize that tone.  That's the voice Sara uses if she worried about someone.  The last time she used it on me was when he was wheeling me out of the hospital after I was attacked by a stalker.

"How you doing, man?" Warrick asks.  He looks me over, like he's expecting to see some physical evidence of my depression.  

"Come on in and sit down."  Sara motions to a chair beside her.  "You feel okay?"

"I feel just fine," I say.  Okay, it's a lie, but it's a tried and true answer. 

Warrick leans forward.  "We thought you might stay home today."

"Why would I?" I ask.  

"Well," Sara says.  "You know."

"No," I say.  "I don't know."

They both just stare at me.  And then, they glance at each other.  

_Real subtle, guys_, I think.

"Look," I say.  "I know I've been a little spaced-out lately.  But I'm all better.  You guys can put away the pity."

"We're not pitying you," Sara says.  "We're your friends and we're worried.  Imagine that."  She sounds hurt.

Okay, now I can add guilt to my list of problems.

"Sara, I appreciate it," I say, trying to offer an olive branch.  "But I _am_ feeling a lot better.  I've been dealing with some personal stuff, and I just let it eat at me."

"You and Catherine talk?" She asks.

I nod.  "We talked."

"Good."

We sit in awkward silence for a few seconds.  But it's a long few seconds.  Finally, I speak up.  "You seen Sanders?"

Warrick leans back in his chair.  "He called off."

Damn. 

"What's wrong?" I ask.

He shrugs.  "I guess he's sick.  I didn't talk to him or anything."

Just then, Grissom sweeps into the room. "What are guys all sitting around for?" He doesn't wait for an answer.  Instead, he waves at me to follow him.  

This I don't need.  

Resigned, I stand up and walk out of the break room.  Would it kill Grissom to say hello before he starts barking out orders?

"We've got an interview with Natalie Ames," he says.

"Is that the Natalie Molly Cooper was telling us about?"  I ask.

"The one and the same."

We walk past the empty lab.  

Part of me wonders if Catherine got it all wrong, and Greg is mad at me, like I thought.  On the other hand, he might have stayed home because he's afraid he freaked _me _out.  Or he could actually be sick.  

I let out a breath.

I really, really don't need this right now.

*****

Grissom and I walk into the interview room.  Brass is already there.

Sitting opposite him is a girl dressed all in black.  She has her arms crossed behind her head, and she's leaning defiantly back in her chair.  She's either a tough girl, or she wants us to think she is.

A man I assume to be her father is sitting beside her.  He's wearing jeans and a casual button-up shirt, but it's open.  Underneath, he's got on a plain gray t-shirt. He stands up when he see Grissom and me.

Brass glances at us, but doesn't leave his seat.  "Mr. Ames, this is Gil Grissom and Nick Stokes from the Las Vegas Crime Lab."

"Garret Ames," the man says amiably, extending his hand. "And this is my daughter, Natalie."

I smile.  "Mr. Ames.  Miss Ames."  I turn to Natalie.  "Can we call you Natalie?"

She shrugs.  "Yeah, whatever."

I sit down opposite Natalie, and Gris sits across from Mr. Ames.

Leaning forward, Gris says, "Natalie, we understand you knew Daniel Kincaid."

"Danny," she says.  "Nobody called him Daniel."

"How well did you know Danny?" I ask.

"We were seeing each other," she says sullenly.

"We were under the impression he was seeing a girl named Molly Cooper," Brass says.

She shrugs.  "That was over.  You know.  It would've been."

"Did Molly know were seeing each other?" I ask.

"I think she knew," Natalie says.  "She's kind of self-absorbed.  You know."

"Where were you the night Daniel Kincaid was killed?" Grissom blurts out.  The guy has no tact.

"What the hell are you saying?" Mr. Ames says, moving his chair a little closer to Natalie.  He puts an arm on her back, but she shrugs it off.

"I was out," Natalie says.

"Were you at Daniel's house?" Grissom says.

Mr. Ames turns to Natalie.  "Honey, don't answer any questions."  He turns to Grissom.  "She is a child.  Why are you putting her through this?"

Grissom's face remains expressionless.  "I'm investigating a murder."

I start to say something to tone down the situation, but Mr. Ames starts talking first.  "You know," he says.  "I don't like your attitude at all."

Gris, his face still vacant of emotion, ignores Mr. Ames' assessment.  "I'd like a DNA sample," he says bluntly.

Natalie looks at her father.  

"What the hell for?" Mr. Ames asks.

Gris cocks his head at Mr. Ames.  "So we can compare Natalie's DNA to some found at Daniel's house."

Natalie and her father exchange glances.  Mr.  Ames turns to Grissom and glares.  "You aren't touching her."

"I can get a warrant," Gris says evenly.

Sometimes Grissom has a knack for making an already-fragile situation worse.  I don't know if this kid killed Danny Kincaid or not.  But pushing her and her father around is not only getting us nowhere, it's also plain rude.

My boss not the only person who can be rude. I turn to Grissom.  

Apparently sensing that I'm about to cross a line with Grissom, Brass intervenes.  "Mr. Ames.  We're not accusing anybody of anything.  We just need to figure out exactly what happened.  We're talking to several kids at Danny's school."

"Well, you're not talking to this one," Mr. Ames says.  He motions to his daughter, and they storm into the hall.  

I stand up and follow them, shooting a glare over my shoulder at Grissom.

"Mr. Ames," I say as I catch up to the pair.

"What do you want?"  Mr. Ames snaps.

"I want to apologize."

Mr. Ames gestures for Natalie to go on ahead, then he turns to me.  "Okay."

"We're all trying to figure out what happened to Danny.  But things got heated in there, and I'm sorry."

He starts to pace.  "So . . . you think what?  My kid's a murderer?"

"We don't what happened," I say.  "Did you know she was seeing Danny?"

"I don't know much about her life," he admits.  "I try.  But she doesn't tell me everything."  He stares at me.  "I was twenty when Nat was born.  I was twenty-four when I became the single parent of two kids.  I work two jobs."

He seems like a nice guy.  I really don't like putting him on the defensive like this.  Taking a breath, I say, "What time did Natalie get home that night?"

He points at me and half-laughs.  "Now, you see.  You were doing okay.  Almost thought you gave a damn."  Then he turns and walks briskly down the hall.

*****

As Mr. Ames disappears out the door, I spin around and slam the ball of my hand into the wall.  Stupid move on my part, because now my hand hurts like crazy.

Cradling my now-throbbing arm, I walk down the hall.  I see Grissom standing near the breakroom, talking with Brass.  I've been in a damn bad mood for weeks, and I don't know where Greg is.  I'm probably not thinking straight, but I don't care.

"Grissom!" I yell down the hall.

He glances up at me.  "Yeah, Nicky?"

"Do you have any idea how to talk to another human being?"

He cocks his head at me.  "There are many ways to communicate with another human being."

I stop dead in the hall. "Yeah, well, you might want to learn one or two of 'em."

Brass takes a step toward me.  "Let's go get some coffee, Nick."

"I don't want coffee, Jim.  I want to say this."

Brass throws up his hands and walks toward the doorway of breakroom, where Warrick and Sara are standing now, evidently summoned by my yelling.

"What do you want to say, Nicky?" Grissom asks.  He sounds more curious than concerned or mad.

"You treated those people like criminals," I snap.

"They may be," he says matter-of-factly.

I turn my back to him, and then spin to face him.  "But we don't know that yet.  You should've been . . . Ah, hell! You _always _treat people like this.  And not just suspects."

"You all right, Nicky?" Grissom says. 

"Am I _all right_?" I say incredulously. "Nice of you to ask, Gris.  And here I thought I had to be a dead body before you'd pay a damn bit of attention."

That was the wrong thing to say.

The silence in the hall is deafening.  And suddenly, my mouth feels incredibly dry.   

Sara practically throws herself into the hallway and grabs my arm.  "Come on," she says.  "Let's go in here and sit down."

I gaze at Grissom as Sara leads me into the other room.  

He just stares at me.  Something . . . shock, I think, is plastered all over his face.  


	9. Conference

Title: Good Enough

Chapter 9

Author's Notes:  Heh, heh.  I threw ya'll a curve with the last chapter.  : D  But don't worry, we'll get there!

*****

"I didn't mean it," I say, for what seems like the thousandth time.  

Sara rubs my back.  "Nick, we can't just ignore—"

Rubbing my face violently, I say, "I was _mad_."

Warrick, who's sitting beside me, puts a hand on my shoulder.  "What can we do to help, man?"

I need to calm down.  If I let them get me worked up, it'll just add fuel to their fire.  "I'm fine, you guys," I say in my calmest, most serene voice.  "I appreciate all the concern, but—"

"What's going on?  Did I miss a memo?"

Catherine.  Damn.

She stands there at the door, arms crossed, assessing the situation like she would a crime scene. Even if no one tells her what's going on, she's going to know.  She has an innate sixth sense about things like this.  Besides, I'm surrounded by Warrick, Brass, Sara, and Grissom (who's hiding by the doorway).  And Sara has her arm around me.  

Catherine walks over.  "Are you all right, Nick?"

Sara starts rubbing my back again, as if to encourage me to talk.  

I take a long breath, and then release it.  "I'm fine."  

"He's a little upset," Sara says helpfully.

Warrick stands up and offers Catherine his chair.  She sits down next to me and cranes her neck around until she's looking me in the face.

"Whatcha upset about?" She asks.

"Can we do this later?" I plead.

Catherine covers my hand with one of hers.  "Did you talk to the person about that thing?"

I glare at her.  _Subtle_, I think.  Now Warrick, Brass, and Sara are going to be driving themselves crazy trying to figure out what she's talking about.

"No," I say sullenly.

"Well, maybe—"

"Look," I snap.  I've had enough of this.  I'm probably going to get fired anyway.  "I lost my temper.  I'm sorry.  Now I have a job to do."

"Nick," Sara says patiently.

"No," I say.  "I—" 

Just then, Grissom walks over to the table where we're all seated.  "You people find something to do," he orders. When they don't move, he says.  "Like working on a case?"  Then he motions at me.  "Come on, Nicky.  Let's go in my office."

I'm a dead man.

Shoulders sagging, I follow Grissom to his office.  He gestures at a chair.  "Sit down."  Then he walks around his desk, drags his own chair into the middle of the room and plunks down across from me.  He gazes curiously at me for a long moment.  Finally, he asks, "Am I an ogre?"  

I shift uncomfortably in my chair.  "I'm sorry I went off on you, Gris.  I've been cooking for a while now, and I just finally boiled over."

"No, really, Nick," he says.  "I want to know.  Do you think of me as some kind of monster?"

Did I hurt his feelings? 

"Of course not," I say. 

"You were mad for a reason."

"Yeah," I admit.  "I was mad."

"At me."

I think about protesting, but I don't.  "Yeah," I say.  "I was upset with you."  I lean back in my chair.  "I just thought you could have handled the Ames' with more tact."

He shakes his head.  "There's that, Nick.  But you've been upset with me for a while." 

I sigh.  "Yeah, well, I've been upset about a lot of things lately."

He presses on.  "And I'm one of them."

_Why deny it? _I think.

I run my hand along the back of my neck. "Gris, sometimes, I just don't think I can be good enough for you."

Gris licks his lips.  "Nick, if I've ever implied that you weren't good enough, I'm sorry.  You're one of the best CSIs I know.  And one of the best men I know." 

That means a lot coming from Gil Grissom.

"You can just turn off your emotions when you need to, Gris," I say.  "I can't.  Everything affects me."  
  
"That's not a bad trait."

"It makes me get too involved with cases."

"I've been told I obsess over cases."

We stare at each other for a moment, and then I cross my arms.  "I've been screwing up around here lately.  I've been snapping at techs.  I've been late to scenes." 

"I know," he says coolly.  "But Nick, that doesn't make you a bad CSI. If I thought there was a real problem, I would have talked to you about it."  

"Why does there have to be a major problem before you talk to us?"

He gazes at me, confused.

I exhale.  "What I'm saying is that . . ."  What?  That I need Grissom's attention?  Or his approval?

"Nick," Grissom says.  "I'm not good with . . . emotional issues.  I know people joke that I'm a robot or something.  But it's not that.  I just . . . Well, it's like you said.  I don't communicate well."  
  
"Grissom."

"But if you need me . . . if you want to talk.  I can listen." He clasps his hands together.  "I just didn't know you needed me," he says quietly.

We sit there in awkward silence until Sara opens the door.  "I'm sorry," she says, flustered.  "I just got some news."

"What is it, Sara?" Grissom asks.

She leans heavily against the doorframe.  "Cody Briers just tried to kill himself."


	10. Deja Vu

Title: Good Enough

Chapter 10

*****

The hospital waiting room looks like a reunion of all the suspects in Danny Kincaid's death.  Obviously, Cody Briers' parents are here.  So are Danny's mom and dad, Mrs. Cooper and Molly, Garret and Natalie Ames, and a teenaged boy I assume to be Garret Ames' younger child.

Sara's talking to Mr. and Mrs. Briers, while Grissom and I sort of just stand by the door and watch.  I'm not in the best mood to be talking to those people right now.  And Grissom . . . well, he may have had some kind of catharsis when he was talking with me in the officer earlier, but he still has the social skills of a rock. Besides, according to Sara, Gris and I didn't make the best impression on Mrs. Briers when we met her. Can't imagine why.

I glance around the room at the other visitors.  Despite my best efforts, I seem to have picked up Gris's habit of watching people.  When we got here, Mr. and Mrs. Kincaid had been consoling the Briers, but when Sara walked over, they retreated to a pair of seats at the far end of the room.  Now, they're sitting quietly, and watching Sara interview the Briers. Mrs. Kincaid looks pretty shaken up, but she's covering it well.  Reminds me of my mom.

Mrs. Cooper pretty much has her hands full with Molly, who's a sobbing wreck.  When we first got here, though, Mrs. Cooper walked over and said hello to me.  This must be heartbreaking for her.  I mean, she talked to the Briers about Cody, but here we all are—in a hospital waiting room picking up the pieces after his suicide attempt.

I'm starting to understand why my friends have been freaking out.  And I'm starting to appreciate it.  

The Ames' are sitting by themselves.  Natalie's sort of wringing her hands, but other than that, she's pretty stoic.  Mr. Ames has one arm around Natalie, and with the other, he's stroking his son's hair.  As I watch them, I notice that there's a distinct class difference between the Ames' and the others.  The Briers', the Kincaids, and the Coopers are all dressed pretty affluently, but the Ames' are wearing worn jeans and faded t-shirts.

About then, Sara walks over to us and crosses her arms.  "Well," she says.  "They pumped his stomach.  It was pretty bad."  She glances at me.  "But he's stable now.  They're going to take him upstairs pretty soon."

"Did he leave a note?" Grissom asks, sneaking a look at the Briers.

"Yeah," Sara says.  "It was pretty cryptic.  Just said he couldn't take it anymore and that he's sorry."

"Pretty standard," I say.

Sara glances at me again.  I can only imagine what's going through her head.

Just then, Mr. Kincaid walks up to me.  "Mr. Stokes," he says, extending his hand.  "This is a tragedy."

"Yes, sir," I say.

He lets out a long, painful-sounding breath.  "Do you have anything new on our son?"

"We're looking into some things, sir."

"Right," he says.  He looks around the room as if he's searching for someone that isn't there. "Well, let me know if you find anything."

"I will, sir," I say.

As Mr. Kincaid walks back across the waiting room, I notice Mr. Ames staring at me.  Part of me wants to walk over to him, but this isn't the best time.  

"Nicky," Gris says.  "Let's get out of here."  
  
"Sure, Gris," I say.  

*****

"Yeah, Mom," I moan.  

I'm slumped on the couch, my phone in one hand, the remote in the other.  I've been home almost an hour.  I want to get off of here so I can order some pizza or something.  I still haven't gotten to the store.  

"Are you listening?"  My mom asks.

"Not really," I say honestly. I was home exactly two and a half minutes before my phone rang.  Like an idiot, I picked it up.  Now I'm stuck listening to my mom tell me how my life would be better in Texas. 

"Well, that's nice to know," my mom snaps.

"What?" I say.

"Nick, for God's sake.  Can I have your attention for a few minutes?"

_Can I have yours?_ I think.

"Mom, I'm tired.  I'm hungry."  I hear a knock at the door, so I trudge over to the door. "I've had a rotten day, Mom.  This isn't really a good time."

"There's never a good time with you," she says.

There's no point in arguing with her, so I just say, "I'm sorry, Mom.  You're right."

Sighing, I swing open the door.

Greg.  Greg and a pizza.

"Your mom?" he asks, gesturing to the phone in my hand. 

"Yeah," I say vaguely.  

"Déjà vu," he smiles crookedly.


	11. Vibes

Title: Good Enough

Chapter 11

*****

Greg Sanders is standing in my doorway, pizza in hand.  I know I should say something, or do something, but I seem to have gone numb.   

Finally, Greg says, "Nick?  Can I come in, or are we eating this in the doorway?"

"Oh," I say, jolting back to reality.  "Yeah, man.  Come in."

I hold open the door so Greg can come in.  I'm still holding my cordless in one hand, and I can vaguely hear my mom screeching at me.  

Greg points at the phone.  "You gonna talk to her?"

"No," I say, pushing the button to hang up the phone.  

"Nick."

"Yeah?"

"You just hung up on her."

I gaze dreamily at the phone.  "Well, it'll give her a reason to yell at me later.  She usually has to sit around and think of one."

Greg cocks his head at me.  Licking his lips, he says.  "I'm gonna stick this in the oven."

Nodding, I say, "Sure, man.  I'm going to be in the living room."

I need some time to collect my thoughts.  I wanted to talk to Greg.  Really.  I intended to do it earlier today.  But I figured I'd have the time to prepare myself, to plan my words.  Now he's in standing the kitchen, and I'm flying without a net.  I don't know what to say to him, or even if I should say anything.  Maybe if he's not mad at me, I should cut my losses and save our friendship.  But then how do I look at him every day, knowing I want to be more than friends?

Letting out a haggard breath, I bury my face in my hands.

After a minute, I feel Greg's hand stroking my hair.  "Hey," he says.  "You all right?"

"I don't know," I say quietly.  

Greg sits down next to me.  "The pizza's done," he says gently, pointing to box on my coffee table.  "I found some plates."

"Okay," I say.

He's opened a door for me, but I'm not ready to talk. So I grab a plate and load it up with pepperoni and sausage pizza, grateful for the time to think.  

Greg's just sits there, watching me for the longest time.  Then he finally follows my lead and grabs some pizza.

We sit together eating, but not talking.  Every now and then, I see him out of the corner of my eye, trying to sneak a clandestine glance.  

After four or five pieces of pizza, Greg says, "So, Catherine told me if I didn't come over here tonight, she was going to drag me over."

"Yeah?"  I shift my body slightly.  "She was over here last night trying to get me to spill my guts."

Greg grins sheepishly.  "Well, you can thank Warrick for that."

I smile suspiciously.  "Trying to foist the blame onto Warrick, huh?"

"He was like, 'We're all worried about Stokes, Catherine.  Somebody should talk to him.'"

I laugh and shake my head, and wonder if Greg knows about the confrontation between me and Grissom today.

Greg turns his body until he's facing me.  "He was concerned after you wigged out in the lab."

"I didn't wig out."

"You wigged out, man."  He gazes at the ceiling.  "And I'm sorry if I did anything to cause that."

I lean back and look at him.  "What would you have done to make me wig out?"

"I don't know," he shrugs.  "You were avoiding me."

"You're right," I say. "I kinda was."

"Aha," he says with mock enthusiasm.  "You admit it."

"Well, I was, man.  I couldn't face you."

He starts savagely twisting a napkin in his hands.  "After my theories the other night . . ."

"Yeah," I say.  "What _were_ those theories?  You never said."

He looks embarrassed.  "You know."

"Greggo, I really don't."

Sighing, he says, "You know, Nick.  I get mixed messages from you."

I frown.  "What mixed messages?"

He leans back and starts balling up the napkin.  Then he unfolds it, and balls it up again.  Then he unfolds it, and balls it up _again_.  "I get this vibe from you."

Uh oh.  Now we've made it to the main event.

"What vibe?" I say, with feigned ignorance.

He throws the napkin across the room.  "Half the time I think you're attracted to me, and half the time I think you're repulsed by me."

"What the hell are you talking about?  You don't repulse me."

Gazing over my shoulder, Greg says, "I don't know how to act around you."

"How do you want to act?" I ask casually.  

Greg stands up and starts to pace.  "This is what you do.  You do this."

"What?"

"This."

"Speak English, Sanders."

"You send off . . ." He gestures wildly, as if he's drawing something in the air that will make his words clear to me. "_Vibes_."

"What do you mean?"

"_This_," he says incoherently.  "You send off these vibes and I don't know what you want from me."

What I want . . . 

He leans against the coffee table, supporting his weight with his fists.  "What do you want?"  His words sound angry and bitter.  I've never heard Greg sound like that.

"I want us to be friends."  It's a partial truth.  I _do_ want us to be friends.  But at the same time, I want to be much, much more.  I want hearts and flowers and sappy love songs.  

"Friends," he says.  "Okay, _pal_."  He turns his back to me.

"You know," I say, standing up.  "_You're_ the one who gives off mixed signals."

He spins back around.  "Oh do I?" 

"Yeah, you do!" 

Greg puts his hands behind his head and paces some more.  "_I'm_ not the one . . ."

"What?"

"Stop playing dumb," he snaps, picking up an empty can of soda.

I cross my arms.  "I'm not."

He throws the can across the room.  Then he walks over to me, closing the distance between us before I can even process what he's doing.  Grabbing me by the shoulders, he pulls me closer to him, and then presses his lips to mine.


	12. Talk

Title: Good Enough

Chapter 12

Author's Notes: Reminder—this is slash.  It's not graphic, but it's there.

*****

I'm barely aware of what's happening right now.  I know Greg has his arms around me, and I know he's kissing me.  But I honestly don't remember how we got this way.  But I barely remember my own name at the moment.  All I'm really cognizant of is the fact that Greg is licking my bottom lip.

My legs must start to buckle, because I feel Greg slide his arms around my waist.  "Whoa," he half-laughs.  "Steady there."

"I need to sit down," I say hazily.

"All right."  

He starts to lead me to the couch, but I plunk right down on the floor.

"Have it your way, Nicky," he laughs, lowering himself to the ground.

We sit there a minute, not really saying anything.  Then I laugh self-consciously, "So."

"Yeah," Greg chuckles.  "I've wanted to do that for a long time."

He has?

"You have?" I say distantly.  "I didn't know."  I swallow and then repeat, "I didn't know."

Greg shifts his body so he's sitting beside me.  Putting an arm around me, he whispers, "It's okay."  He half-hugs me with his arm, and then kisses me on the neck.  "I think we got our wires crossed."

I turn my head to face him.  "If I'd have known . . ." I can't think of anything to say, so I let my words trail off. 

"I know," he says quietly.  "I've been walking around afraid that you'd find out about my feelings for you."

I smile sheepishly.  "Ditto, man.  We definitely got our wires crossed.  After that day in the lab, I figured I'd wrecked our friendship."

"I thought you ran out of there because you knew."

We both laugh softly, and then Greg starts to nuzzle my neck.  When he finally comes up for air, he asks, "So, what now?"

I lick my lips.  "Uh, I guess we should talk.  Really talk."

Greg nods and stands up.  "Let's move this to the couch."

I stand up shakily.  My knees aren't made for sitting on the floor.  "Hang on a sec, okay?"  I say.  "I'm gonna grab something to drink." I disappear into the kitchen, and reemerge a few minutes later with two cans of cherry cola.  "No matter how fast I run out of food, I always seem to have a steady supply of soda."

Greg smiles.  "Thanks," he says, taking a can from me.  Then he pats the cushion beside him.  "Quit stalling."

Letting out a breath, I slump down onto the couch.  Greg slips his arm across my shoulders and pulls me close.  It feels nice to just sit here, but we've got some things to sort out.

Taking his free hand in mine, I say, "I think Catherine knows."

"Oh yeah," he nods.  "She knows."

I narrow my eyes.  "As in she told you she knows?"

"As in she said if I didn't tell you how I felt pretty soon, she was going to clock me one."

I grin.  "So, who else do you think knows?"

Greg squeezes my hand.  "I don't know."  He pauses, and then cocks his head to look at me.  "My family knows.  About me."

"Yeah?" I say.  That surprises me, because I can't imagine telling my family.  

"Yours?" Greg asks.

"No way.  Not even."

Greg purses his lips.  "I've known I'm bisexual since I was in high school."

"I've been trying to pretend I'm not since high school."

Greg wraps his arms tightly around me.  "So," he says tentatively.  "Have you?"

"Have I what?"

"With a guy."

"Oh," I say.  "Yeah, but not since college. I mean, it's one thing to have a couple of flings in college.  It's another to be a cop in Texas and openly date men."

"You're not a cop in Texas anymore."

I lick my lips.  "Yeah, man, I know."  Then I pull out of his embrace and say, "You know, Greggo, I've known you for quite a while.  I had no idea you played for both teams."

"Yeah, well."

"Yeah, well, nothing, man."

He smiles.  "Point taken."  He pulls me back into his arms.  "Nick, I only started hiding it when I figured out I had feelings for you.  I don't know.  I guess I thought you'd freak if you knew."

"Brass and Warrick _would_ freak."

"No doubt," he nods.  "Sara would be broken-hearted, of course.  Losing me to you."

I laugh.  "She's probably just glad you stopped hitting on her."

He smirks.  "What about Grissom?"  
  


"Oh, man," I say.  "I don't know."  I twist my body so that I'm facing Greg.  "So, did anybody tell you what happened today?"

"Well, Catherine said she wasn't buying my sick act."

I take a deep breath, and then release it.  "I blew up at Grissom."

Greg scoots forward.  "Get out!  Really?"

"Yeah," I smile guiltily.  "In front of Warrick, Sara, and Brass."

"And I missed it?  Did anybody get it on tape?"

I take his hand.  "Listen, man," I say.  "I got to tell you something because you're gonna hear about it."

"Okay."

"Well, Gris and I had this interview with a potential suspect and her father.  Gris treated them like serial killers and I went off.  Told him he didn't know how to talk to human beings."

"Ouch."

"Yeah, Brass tried to stop me, but I was venting, man."

"What did Grissom do?" Greg asks excitedly.

"He just stared at me.  But listen, here's what I have to tell you."  I swallow.  "Remember, I was venting.  I told Grissom that I was starting to think I'd have to be a dead body to get his attention."

Greg gapes at me.  "You were just mad, right?"

I rub my hand up and down his arm.  "Yeah, I was going off.  I didn't mean anything by it.  Sara's all worried, though.  And to make matters worse, Gris called me into his office so he could tell me how he cares about all of us—it was really weird, man—and then Sara comes in and says Cody Briers tried to kill himself."

"Harsh, Nicky."

"So, right before I left today, Sara kept asking me if I needed to talk.  I'm hoping she doesn't hover the next few days."

"Rough day at the office."

"So, I wanted to hear what happened before Sara tells you the dramatic version."

Greg takes my face in his hands.  "You'd talk to me—or someone—if you ever felt like hurting yourself, right?"

"Yeah, I would."

Wrapping his arms around my neck, Greg kisses me gently on the lips.  "I don't want anything to happen to you."

We sit quietly in each other's arms for a while, and then I say, "I'm having a hard time with this case."

"How so?"

"It's hitting a little too close too home."  I burrow further into his arms.  "My parents are a lot like the Kincaids and the Briers.  I don't know.  I'm missing something.  I can't figure out what."

"Maybe you're ignoring for the obvious."

"Possible.  And something else," I say.  "When we went to the hospital about Cody Briers today, the Kincaids were there.  And that girl Brass and I interviewed at the school."

"Kincaid's girlfriend?"

"Yeah.  And the girl and her dad—the people we talked to today—they were there.  It was weird.  They just sat by themselves and everyone ignored them."

"Who were they to Kincaid?"

"Well, the girl says she and Kincaid were dating."  
  
"So, Kincaid had two girls?  Hmm…"

"Grow up," I grin.  "But it's weird.  The whole situation is weird."

"Does the girl have a connection to Cody Briers?"

I frown.  "I don't know.  I was wondering that.  She never said anything.  I know Cody is friends with the Cooper girl—the girl from the school—but the Cooper girl said that Natalie—the other one—doesn't travel in her social circle."

Greg slides his hand along my leg.  Feels nice. "Hmm . . . Okay," he says. "Then you got one girl who openly dated Kincaid and knew Briers, and another one who stayed in the shadows."

"But not so much in the shadows that she and her family didn't show up when Cody Briers tried to kill himself."

The hand that's been massaging my leg stills.  "Hmm . . ."

When I sneak a quick glance over my shoulder, I can see in Greg's eyes that he's starting to analyze this whole situation.  In other words, he's slipping into CSI mode. 

Reaching down, I cover his hand with mine and start slowly moving our hands along my leg.  I crane my neck around and kiss him on the cheek. "We can think about this tomorrow, Greg," I say smiling roguishly. 


	13. Family

Title: Good Enough

Chapter 13

*****

Sara's sitting across from me, her head resting in her hand.  "You're in a good mood," she says.

I glance up, grinning like an idiot.  "Maybe I am."

"What gives?" She asks.

My relationship with Greg is one day old, but so far, so good.  Real good.  I'm not exactly ready to advertise this thing with Greg and me, though.  I have serious reservations about how Warrick, Grissom, Brass, and Sara are gonna take it.  

Shrugging, I smile, "I just worked some stuff out," 

Sara takes my hand.  "You know, you had me pretty scared."

"Sara, I'm sorry.  What I said to Grissom I said in anger.  I didn't mean it."

She brushes a strand of hair over her shoulder.  "Not even a little?"

Licking my lips, I say, "Maybe a little.  But listen, I want you to know that I don't have a death wish.  I'm not that far gone."

"If you get that far gone . . ."

"I'll talk to someone."

Just then, Grissom walks in.  He stops in the middle of the room and gazes at me like he's waiting to find out if I'm going to explode or something.  Finally, he takes a seat next to Sara.  "What've we got?"

Sara and I are rereading the personal information on all the major players in Danny Kincaid's life.  Or in the case of the Ames', we're going over it for the first time.

"Well," I say.  "All the kids are stellar students.  Mostly honors and college prep classes.  Kincaid, Briers, and Cooper were all involved in extracurricular activities, but Natalie Ames pretty much just shows up for class."

Grissom nods and gets a far off look in his eyes. "Any serious behavioral issues?"  

"Other than what we already know about Kincaid, no.  None of them are problem kids.  Natalie Ames' English teacher said she's been depressed and withdrawn, though."

"Here's something," Sara says.  

"What?" Grissom asks.

Sara looks up, a smile plastered on her face.  "Cody Briers mom . . . her maiden name is Ames.  She's Garret Ames' sister."

*****

Grissom and I decide to pay the former Susan Ames, now Susan Briers, a visit.  We arrive just in time to see the front door opening, and Garret Ames storming out of it.

"You're blind!" he yells at Susan Briers, who follows him out the door.

"Don't you tell me how to raise my children, Gary!" Mrs. Briers yells.  "Don't you dare!"

Ames spins around.  "I'm just telling you to _listen_ to him!  Or is that too hard?"

Mrs. Briers points crosses her arms fiercely.  "At least _my _child isn't a freak!"

Ames' jaw tightens, and his whole body becomes rigid.  Turning on his heel, he says, "Bite me."

He thunders down the walk and runs right into me.  When he realizes who I am, he says, "Are you stalking me?"

"We're here to see your sister, actually," Grissom says.  He sounds a bit pleased with himself.

Susan Ames swoops down the walk and stops next to her brother.  "I have to leave soon," she says.  "They're going to let me see Cody."

I notice Garret Ames roll his eyes.  

"Well," Grissom says.  "I'll try not to take much of your time."  Then he turns to me.  "Nicky, you wait out here."

He wants me to talk to Ames, apparently.  I don't think I'm much higher on Ames' Christmas list that Grissom is, but I'll have a try.

"So," I say to Ames.  "We weren't aware that you and Mrs. Briers were related."

"Well, we're not close," Ames says. "I'm the family freak."

Grinning, I say, "I know the feeling.  I'm one of seven kids.  Mostly doctors and lawyers.  My mom keeps calling to tell me how well my sisters and brother are doing, and how she hopes I figure out what I want to do with my life."  Laughing, I shake my head.  

Ames smiles.  "My parents went nuts when I got married at eighteen.  They were hoping I'd follow my dad into the law practice.  Can you see me as a lawyer?"

I laugh.  Then I say, "Sir, I'm sorry about yesterday."

He bites his bottom lip and nods.  "Ah," he says.  "I was over the top.  I felt as though I was being put the defensive."

"We could've handled things better."

Ames starts pacing along the sidewalk.  "Natalie was watching her brother the night Danny was killed.  I work evenings, and she takes of Logan.  I mean, he's thirteen, but she doesn't leave him by himself."

"Yes, sir."  I cross my arms.  "How well did you know Danny Kincaid?"

He shrugs.  "Danny and Cody were friends since they were tiny.  Nat used to hang around with them."  
  
"When did that change?"  
  
"When they were freshmen.  They were into different things."

"Does it surprise you that Natalie was dating Danny?"

He nods.  "I never would've allowed it, and she knows that."

"Why not?"

"Because he was drinking.  He was violent.  People can say what they want, but he had a temper.  He gave Cody five stitches a couple months ago."

"How did that happen?" I ask.

Ames shoves his hands into his pockets.  "I don't know the whole story. Cody called me one day and asked me to pick him up from a free clinic downtown.  He didn't want his parents to know what happened.  I asked him what went down, and he told me that he and Danny had a fight, and Danny'd been drinking.  And Danny hit him."

"Was this an isolated incident?"  
  
"With Cody maybe.  But I'm sure sweet, porcelain Molly Cooper had been knocked around a little."

That would throw a new ingredient into the pot.  We haven't been looking at Molly Cooper as a suspect at all.  

Over Ames' shoulder, I see the Briers' front door burst open.  Grissom bounds cheerfully down the steps followed by an irritated looking Mrs. Briers.  

"Ready to go, Nicky?" Grissom asks.

I hold out my hand to Mr. Ames.  "Sir."

Ames regards me hand for a few moments, and then he grasps it tightly.  "Mr. Stokes."

I nod at Mrs. Briers, who scowls back, and then I round the car to passenger side.  


	14. Secrets

Title: Good Enough

Chapter 14

-----

Greg's got the thumb of one hand hooked into one of the belt loops of my jeans.  With the index finger of the other hand, he's tracing my spine.  Considering we're in Greg's lab, him feeling me up probably isn't a good idea. 

"Greg," I say, "C'mon.  We're in public."

Are you ashamed of me?" Greg asks.  There's a hint of amusement in his voice. 

"I'm not ashamed of you," I say.

"Good," he says, as he slides one hand under my shirt.  "You have nice skin."

Glancing over my shoulder, I whisper, "I'm serious, Greggo.  What if someone sees us?"

"Then they see us."

Greg is ready to tell the world about us, and believe me, I'm flattered.  But I'm just not ready to go public.  I mean, my parents would go nuclear.  Sara would be polite—too polite.  And there's no telling how Warrick, Brass, and Grissom would react.  If I had to guess, though, I'd have to say Warrick and Brass will have a problem with this.  We've all gone out together after work, and every now and then, a couple of guys will walk by—obviously together.  Warrick and Brass aren't outright mean, but they crack a joke, or make a little dig.  Maybe they're just being guys, but I just can't take the chance.

I yank Greg's hand out from under my shirt.  "Not here, Greg.  I mean it."

Greg takes a step backward.  Licking his lips, he says, "Okay."

I've hurt him.  I know that.  But this is my job, and these are my friends. "We have to set up boundaries Greg."

"Okay."

"Work is no place for…this."  I take a step forward.  "Grissom would blow if he saw us getting…romantic in the lab."

"I know," he says.  He walks to the other side of the lab and starts moving things around.  "So, your DNA analysis will be done soon."

After I told him about my conversation with Garret Ames, Gris asked Molly Cooper to come in and give us a DNA sample.  Molly wasn't too thrilled about the idea, but her mother brought her in anyway.

"Y'know, Nicky," Greg says.  "If it was just about the touchy-feely stuff at work, I'd be fine.  But I get the feeling you'll never be ready to tell anyone about us."

"This is moving pretty fast," I say.  "I'm sorry."

"It's cool," Greg says, his tone indicating that it's anything but cool.

"You're upset," I say.

"I'm cool.  We're cool."

About then, Grissom wanders in.  "How's that DNA sample coming?"

Greg flashes a forced, but Greg-like smile.  "It'll be hot off the presses in a sec."  He points at the machine, and, as if on cue, the printer spits out a piece of paper.  Greg rips the paper off the printer and reads it to himself.  Then he glances up at Grissom and me.  "Any guesses?"

"We don't rely on guess," Grissom says.

"We rely on evidence," Greg finishes.  "Molly Cooper is a match."

-----

I'm in Greg's lab, waiting for Brass.  We're going to interview Molly and her mother together.  After the incident with the Ames', Brass pretty much barred Grissom from interviewing the kids involved in the Kincaid murder. 

Greg is still angry with me.  He ditched me at lunch and went out with Catherine.  Now, he's just leaning against the counter, his arms crossed, glaring at me.  

"Look, Greg," I say.

He sighs wearily.  "Nicky, I'm not asking you take out a full page add in the morning paper.  I just don't want to hide.  It was hard enough for me to hide it from you."

I lean my body forward and rest my weight on the upper part of my arms.  "I'm not comfortable doing this in a fishbowl."

"And I'm not comfortable in the closet, Nick."

"You have to give me time," I say.  I reach out to take his hand, but he pulls it away.

"We're at work," Greg says. "Boundaries, remember."

I gaze at him for a long moment.  As much as I care about—love the guy, I can't let him force me to do something I'm not comfortable doing.  And I'm not ready to come out of the closet.

"You're not being fair," I say.

"No, _you're_ not," he snaps.

"Nicky," a voice says from the doorway.

I glance up and see Brass standing there.  Oh God.  How long has he been there?

If Brass heard anything, he doesn't act like it.  He points over his shoulder. "The front desk said the Coopers are here."

"Cool," I say.  "Hey Greg, I'll call."

"If you want to," he says shortly.

-----

Brass and I round the corner to the front lobby.  Sure enough, Mrs. Cooper is standing there.  And she's got company.

"Isn't that Garret Ames?" Brass whispers. 

"Yeah," I say. 

Mr. Ames and Mrs. Cooper are standing pretty close to each other, talking quietly.  Mrs. Cooper is gesturing with her hands, while Mr. Ames stands with his arms stolidly crossed. 

Brass and I walk toward them and finally wind up close enough to hear the tail end of the conversation.

Mrs. Cooper runs a hand through her hair.  "I just don't see why you have to shut everyone out."

"That's your interpretation, Kim," Mr. Ames says. 

"Gary…"

Mr. Ames takes a step forward. "I haven't seen you make much of an effort."

Taking a breath, I say, "Mr. Ames, Mrs. Cooper."

They both jump a little, like teenagers who've been caught smoking behind the school.

"Mr. Stokes," Ames says, holding out his hand.  "Could I talk to you for a moment?"

"Sure."  I glance at Brass.  "I'll meet you in the interrogation room."

Mrs. Cooper waves Molly, who'd been checking out the vending machines, over, and they follow Brass down the hall.

"What can I do for you, sir?"  I ask.

Ames reaches into his pocket and pulls out a stack of letters.  "My son brought these to me.  He likes to sneak a peek at Natalie's things. They're letters from Danny to Nat."

"Does your daughter know you brought these?" I ask.

He nods.  "She's less than thrilled right now."  He hands me the stack of letters.  "They're disturbing.  But I think you need to see them."

"Thank you," I say. 

He nods again, and then turns on his heel and walks out the door.


	15. Connections

Title: Good Enough

Chapter 15

-----

"C'mon Molly," Brass coaxes, half-smiling, "Tell us what happened the night Danny died."

Molly is a nervous wreck. She's twisting a tissue into a mangled mess, and she keeps glancing at her mother. "I don't know what happened," she croaks.

"Molly," Mrs. Cooper says firmly. From the look she's had plastered on her face since I walked in here, Mrs. Cooper was floored by the knowledge that her daughter was in Danny Kincaid's house the night he died.

Tugging at her bottom lip, Molly says, "I don't know, Mom. He was fine when I left."

"What were you doing there anyway?"

A short, impatient sigh escapes Molly's lips. "He was my boyfriend."

"You said you were at the library."

I decide to intervene before this becomes a mother-daughter fight. "Molly," I say. "When did you leave Danny's house?"

She looks startled. "After Cody. Right after."

"What time exactly?" Brass asks.

"I don't know. Six?"

Brass raises his eyebrows. Cody didn't leave anywhere near that early.

She tries again. "Seven?"

Brass glances at me. I ignore him and lean forward in my chair. "Molly," I say gently, "tell us what happened."

"We hung out," she shrugs, trying to be casual, but failing miserably.

""Who?"

"Mmm....Me, Cody, and Danny."

"Anybody else? Or just the three of you?"

"Just us," she says.

"Molly," I say. "Why didn't you just tell us you were there?" Actually, why didn't Cody tell us she was there?

"I don't know," she mutters.

"You don't know?" Brass asks suspiciously. Brass has a way of asking a question…I don't know how people are dumb enough to think they can possibly get away with lying to him.

Molly glances at her mother, then she looks at Brass. "Look, Cody and I had a blowout, y'know?"

"Enlighten us," Brass says.

Molly frowns. "I don't know what happened to Cody," she snaps.

Brass plunges on. "What did you and Cody fight about?"

"It's personal," she says.

"This is a murder investigation," Brass says. "Your personal matters are my business."

All the color drains from Molly's face. She takes a labored breath, and then says in a monotone voice, "Danny wasn't murdered."

"Molly," I say. "Did you drive you car to Danny's?"

"No," she says. "I walked."

"From our house?" Mrs. Cooper asks incredulously.

"From IHOP," Molly says irately. "The one two blocks from Danny's house,"

"How did you get to IHOP?" I press.

She lets out a long-suffering breath. "My friend Emma dropped me off."

"What's Emma's last name?" I ask.

"Miller."

"Okay. Did Emma stay at IHOP with you?"

"No," Molly says. "She just dropped me off on the way to her dad's house."

"Did you meet anyone at the restaurant?"

She frowns. Licking her lips, she says, "I met a lot of people. We hang out there. Y'know, I talked to a lot of kids."

"Anyone in particular?" Brass asks.

"I said lots of kids," Molly snaps. "I didn't write down their names."

The sweet girl Brass and I talked to in Mrs. Ling's office is long gone, replaced by a snotty teenager who won't give a straight answer. My minds resonates with Garret Ames' sarcastic description of Molly—"Sweet, porcelain Molly Cooper."

"Look," I say. "Let's go step by step. Where were you and Emma before you wound up at IHOP?"

"The library," she answers.

"What time did you arrive at Danny's?"

"5 or something."

"Was Cody already there?"

"Yeah."

"What did the three of you do?"

Molly shoots me an acidic glare. "We hung out. Talked. Stuff."

"What did you talk about?" I ask.

She shifts in her chair and squares her jaw. She wads up the mangled tissue and tosses it on the table. "The weather."

Okay, so she's playing the tough girl. "Molly," I say. "Did Danny ever hit you?"

"Whoa," Mrs. Cooper says. "What?"

"He wouldn't hit me," Molly says defensively.

"C'mon," Brass says. "Maybe he had a few, pushed you."

Molly stares at the table. After a minute, her hand snakes out to grab the abandoned tissue. "He didn't mean anything by it."

Mrs. Cooper covers her mouth with her hand. "Oh my God. Molly." She turns her daughters face until Molly is looking directly at her. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You would've made me stop seeing him," she says, her voice two octaves higher than normal.

"Mrs. Cooper?" I say solemnly. "What time did Molly get home that night?"

Mrs. Cooper looks stunned. "I don't know," she says. "I was on a date." She looks guiltily at her daughter. "I'm recently divorced." She shrugs helplessly, pulls off her jacket, and then runs a trembling hand through her hair. "I didn't get back until 1. She was in her bedroom then."

Handing Molly another tissue, I say, "Why don't we take a break? Okay? You want a soda?"

Molly shrugs, so I get out of my chair and head for the door. "We'll be back. Jim?"

-----

Once outside, I turn to Brass. "Well, this puts things in a whole 'nother light."

"Do you like her for it?" Brass asks.

"I don't know, man." I look through the window at the Coopers. "I don't think we've gotten the truth from any of these kids. Or most of their parents."

"Mrs. Cooper seemed sincere."

I narrow my eyes and cross my arms. "Yeah, but…She seemed pretty chummy with Mr. Ames. That was news."  
  
Brass cocks his head. "Didn't Molly say Natalie Ames wasn't in her social circle?"

"Yeah. And when we went to the hospital after Cody's suicide attempt, the Ames and the Coopers didn't acknowledge each other. But out in the lobby, they were on a first name basis, and it seemed as though they were having a pretty intimate conversation. Before we interrupted it."

Brass futilely tries to straighten his tie. "Well, you can always tell when two people are treading personal territory."

"Yeah. Okay, Molly's hiding something," I mumble. "And I think Mr. Ames and Mrs. Cooper are hiding something."

"There's a lot of that going on around here," Brass says.

I feel my mouth go dry.

Before I can say anything, Grissom walks up. "How did it go?"

"It's still going," I say. "But she has no alibi for the time of the murder, and she was being battered by Daniel Kincaid."

"Okay," Grissom says as he turns to leave. "Good work."

Grissom's been handling me with kid gloves ever since I went nuclear on him in the hall.

"Grissom," I say. "Something else. Garret Ames stopped by and gave me these." I hand Grissom the letters. "They're notes from the vic to the Ames girl. Ames said they were disturbing."

"Disturbing for the father of a teenaged daughter, or disturbing for anyone?"

"I don't know," I say. "He gave them to me right before I went in to question Molly."

Grissom clutches the letters in his hand, looking for all the world like I've just given him a prize. "Come find me when you finish with Molly. In the meantime, I have a little reading."

-----

After the Coopers leave, I head toward Grissom's office to fill him in on everything. As I walk past Greg's lab, I pause. Greg's hunched over the table, looking into a microscope. I don't know why, but I'm seized by a sudden urge to rush into his lab, wrap my arms around him, and kiss him breathless. That can't happen, though. Not here.

I start to walk away, but Greg looks up and sees me. Catching my gaze, he waves me over.

"Hey," I say, as I walk into the room. I'm surprised Greg wants to talk to me at all after our argument—lover's spat?—today.

"Hey," he says. "You coming over tonight?"

"Am I welcome?"

He grins. "Well, if you bring those muscles and that Texan charm."

I feel my body begin to relax. "Greg, I'm sorry about today."

"Me too." Greg props his elbows up on the counter. "You're coming from a different place than I am. I'm comfortable with my sexuality. You aren't." He nods, as if that settles the matter. Then he says, "I can't keep this a secret forever."

I struggle to say something, but nothing comes out. Finally, I reach behind the counter and squeeze his hand, hoping that the physical connection says what I can't.


	16. Math and Literature

Title: Good Enough

Warnings: Slash. If you're at Chapter 16, you know that by know. Also, mention of child and domestic abuse.

Spoilers: "Overload." Also, if you haven't read "Murder on the Orient Express," be warned that I spoil the ending to it.

Chapter 16

* * *

Shifting uncomfortably in my chair, I glance around Grissom's office. I'm here to discuss my interview with Molly Cooper and her mother, as well as the letters Garret Ames dropped off. Still, I can't help but feel like I'm in the principal's office. I'm waiting to be scolded for something. 

Not to mention the fact that the last time I was here, Grissom tried to bond with me.

Leaning forward in his chair, Grissom finally says, "So, how did the interview go?"

I shrug. "Well, everybody's hiding something."

Grissom gets a far-off look in his eyes. "Well, that's true of life, isn't it? We're all hiding something."

Raising my eyebrows, I say, "These people are. Molly Cooper admitted to being in the house, but she says she left right after Cody. She met friends at IHOP prior to meeting Danny, but she shut up when we asked for names. Add to that the fact that Cody never mentioned Molly's presence at the house."

"True. Perhaps Molly is covering for Cody?"

I lean back in my chair. "Cody's parents put him at home when the murder took place."

"Nicky, would your parents lie to protect you?"

Without a second's hesitation, I say, "Absolutely." Cocking my head, I tug on my bottom lip. "You figure the Briers' have been lying to us all along?"

Grissom clasps his hands. "Well, I don't know, but it's a possibility. Remember that eyewitnesses are the least reliable form of evidence."

I nod. "We don't have anything that puts Cody in the house when Danny was killed."

"We don't have anything that puts him at home when Danny was killed," Grissom counters, "Expect the word of his loving parents."

"Speaking of parents," I say, "Mr. Ames and Mrs. Cooper are hiding something as well."

Looking intrigued, Grissom says, "Okay, what's your theory?"

"Well," I say, "Kim Cooper mentioned that she was on a date with someone the night Danny was killed. She and Garret Ames looked pretty chummy when I saw them in the lobby. I'm guessing he's the mystery date."

"Hmm…" Grissom crosses his arms. "That could explain the animosity between Molly and Natalie. Tell me something, Nick. Did you read 'Romeo and Juliet' when you were in high school?"

"Sure. Freshman year."

Grissom pulls a letter from the stack Garret Ames handed to me. "Give me a summary."

Frowning, I say, "Uh…feuding families. True love. They died to be together."

Oh.

I sit up straight. "What are you thinking?"

"Well," Grissom says with a near-grin, "In these letters, Daniel refers to himself as Romeo to Natalie's Juliet. He goes on to say that their families are the Capulets and the Montagues."

"Sounds like Danny was more troubled than people thought."

Licking his bottom lip, Gris says, "He wrote that life wasn't worth living if he didn't have her."

"What does he say about Molly?"

"Nothing. He talks about Cody and about the trip to LA."

Stretching, I ask, "What else?"

Gris rifles through the letters, finally, tugging one free of the stack. "Here he apologizes for hurting her. Says he wasn't mad at her. He was mad at the world."

"Sounds like he hit her, too." I shift in my chair. "I asked Mr. Ames, and he said he was sure Natalie was never beaten. He seems like a good dad, y'know?"

Grissom shrugs, "Well, even the best of parents don't want to believe that something horrible can happen to their child."

"So, we've got one girlfriend who was being battered, another who was probably getting battered, a best friend who got clocked at least once."

"Let's look at our major players: We know that Cody and Molly were in that house. Cody is the best friend. Molly is one of two girlfriends. Cody and Molly are friends."

"Natalie is the other girlfriend, but she was home with her brother when Danny was killed." Anticipating Grissom's question, I add, "But we have no proof of that."

"Additionally, if you're correct about Mr. Ames and Mrs. Cooper, then Natalie and Molly also have a connection."

"And Cody is Natalie's cousin. According to Mr. Ames, Nat and Cody used to hang out, but haven't recently. But there seems to be at least a minor relationship between Cody and the Ames'. I mean, Cody called his uncle after Danny hit him."

Grissom cocks his head the way he does when he's pondering something. "They're all interconnected. Nick, did you ever read 'Murder on the Orient Express'?"

"Yeah, years ago."

"Remember who the killer was?"

"About everybody on the train," I half-laugh. "Twelve people who all knew the vic and each other got together, and each one took a swing at the vic. It was like they were the jury, passing sentence on him."

"Right! They covered for each other. Each passenger on the train misled Poirot just enough that the murder couldn't be pinned on one person."

I stand up and begin to pace. "These are kids, Gris. Are you saying that they got together to kill Danny, and that they've been covering for each other?"

"What do we know about what happened in the room?"

I bite my bottom lip. "Well…"

"What does the autopsy tell us?" Gris asks, slightly irritated.

I've been so out of it lately that I really can't remember. "He didn't have enough pills in his system to kill him."

"Right," Grissom nods. "We also know that there were bruises on his hands. They could be defensive marks, or they could be the result of an attack against one of the suspects. We also know that Daniel had bruises on the back of his legs, consistent with falling backward over something. And," Grissom says, "There was a bruise on his chest that is consistent with someone striking him."

"Or pushing him," I mumble. "Grissom, none of this adds up."

"Well," he says. "We're going to have to do the math until it does."

* * *

"I'm just saying you're getting too emotionally involved with this case. You're tied up in knots." Greg rubs the ball of one hand into my right shoulder. "Not that I mind working them out, but dude, your stressin'. It's unhealthy." 

I adjust my body so it's more comfortable, and so Greg can reach my upper arms. He's right. My muscles are tight as a drum. The case is only part of it, though. I don't know. I guess I thought getting together with the man I love would solve all my problems, but it hasn't. Most of the old ones are still with me. And my relationship with Greg has caused a few new ones.

Letting out a deep, labored breath, I say, "I guess I identify with Cody a little. And Garret."

"Why?"

"Why?" I crane my neck back to look at Greg. "I guess we all have similar parents. And similar life experiences."

"You never murdered anybody."

"How do we know they did?"

Greg's trying to keep me in perspective. I know that. But I just can't see these kids or their folks as murderers. Maybe I _am_ feeling too close to some of the suspects, but I've always trusted my gut before. And my gut is telling me that none of our suspects are murdered Danny.

Greg pats my left shoulder. "All right, you stay there. I'll get the door."

I flinch. "The door? I didn't hear the doorbell."

"Relax, Nicky," Greg says, a hint of frustration in his voice. "We're friends. You're allowed to be at my apartment."

With my shirt off? I snake my hand to the floor and snatch up my shirt. I just managed to get it buttoned when Greg swings open the door.

"Hi, boys!"

Catherine. I feel my breathing start to relax.

Ever since our little heart-to-heart over breakfast burritos, Catherine has been hovering over me. For want of a better word, she's been mothering me. Yesterday, she dragged me down to the grocery store. "You can't live on fast food," she told me. And this morning, she reminded me to do my laundry. I have to admit, I kind of like her fussing over me.

"So," she says, flopping down on the couch. "What are you two studs up to?"

Greg grins mischievously. "Sorry Cat, there's a lady present."

"Who?" She winks.

Smiling, Greg says, "Hey Cat, want to stay for dinner?"

"Did it come with a good-looking delivery guy?"

"That could be arranged."

"Hey," I say, trying to sound put off. "Are you flirting with her?"

Greg chuckles. "Ooh. Jealous." He strides toward his kitchen. "I cooked pasta. Is that cool?"

"Yeah. Lindsey had a sleepover last night. I don't have to pick her up for a while."

After Greg disappears into the kitchen, Catherine pats the seat next to her. "Let's talk."

I trudge dutifully over and drop down next to her. "Listen, Cat. If you're going to join the Greg Sanders chorus about coming out, I'm not ready."

"That's fine," she says. "Don't do anything you're not ready to do."

"Really?"

"Yeah. How are you two doing otherwise?"

I smile. "Good."

Catherine grins. "Nicholas Stokes, you're blushing."

I am?

"I am?" I laugh a little. "I'm way too old to act silly and lovesick."

"You're too young not to," Catherine says evenly. "So, what happened with Mom?"

I bite my bottom lip and glance toward the kitchen. "We're walking on eggshells."

"Have you told…?" She points toward the kitchen.

"Are you nuts?" I whisper. "He doesn't have to know."

She gazes at me. "Your call. But you need to talk to your parents. They may not want to hear it, but…" Catherine trails off.

I look up and see Greg, leaning quietly against the wall. "And the room fell silent," he says. "Talking about me?"

I feel my chest tighten. I know Catherine and I didn't say anything to tip Greg off about what we were really talking about. But I can't help but notice that Greg has the same look on his face that Brass did after he walked in on Greg and me in the lab.

Noticing my discomfort, Catherine winks at me, and says, "Maybe he was flirting with me."

Greg posture relaxes somewhat. "I wouldn't doubt it," he says dramatically. "Anyway, food's getting cold."


	17. Haunted

Title: Good Enough

Chapter 17

Spoilers: "Overload"

Warnings: This story has reference to sexual abuse. Nothing graphic.

Author's Notes: This is a short, transitional chapter. Sorry guys. The boys are fighting again. Those rascals.

-----

Sometimes I feel like I'm haunted.

When I was a kid, I was molested by a last-minute babysitter. It's a secret I've been carrying around with me since I was nine. The only people in the world who know are Catherine, the babysitter, and me. And my mom, sort of. The last time I was in Texas, I tried to tell my mom about it, but she got uncomfortable and wouldn't listen. Catherine's been on me to try again. She says this thing is going to bother me until I get it out in the open. I know she's right. My secret is like this ghost that's always hanging around in the background, waiting to rattle its chains.

But still, the idea of facing down my mom is terrifying. When I tried to open up to her in Texas, she got this look on her face. I don't know what it was . . . revulsion? . . . guilt? But I'm scared to see that look again.

And then there's Greg to think about. I've always had this fear in the back of my mind that my significant others would learn my secret, and that they wouldn't want to be with me anymore. That they'd see my as damaged. The rational part of me knows Greg wouldn't see it that way. But for all my trust in Greg, there's this little kernel of doubt.

Actually, he and I had a pretty lousy night last night. Greg overheard Catherine and me talking about my problems with my mom. After Catherine left, Greg and I were left with uneasy silence. We sat up for forty-five minutes just making small talk.

Right now, I'm pacing around the living room of Greg's apartment, my cell phone in one hand, a cinnamon donut in the other. Greg's still in the shower. He likes to take insanely long showers, so I figure I've got a while before he comes out.

I've dialed Mom's number. All I have to do is hit the send button.

"Might as well get it over with," I mutter under my breath.

After one ring, my mom answers the phone in her elegant Texan drawl. "Hello?"

"Mom," I say, trying to sound cheerful, "What's up?"

"My long lost son," she says dramatically, "I'm surprised to hear from you this late."

"I've been up an hour, mom," I say, dropping onto the couch, "Graveyard shift."

"Of course," she says, "How are you, son?"

"I'm all right," I lie, "I'm about to head to work." Taking in a deep breath, I say, "Listen, Mom. I was sort of wondering if you could come to Vegas for a few days."

"Aren't you the son who ran away to a different state to get away from me?"

I laugh dryly. "The same. Mom, there's some things we need to talk about, and I need to do it face to face."

"Like what, dear?"

"Like that thing we started to talk about in Texas."

My mom clears her throat. "I don't know what you mean."

Chuckling, I say, "You can play that game if want, but you know exactly what I'm talking about. Can you come?"

"I don't know if I can get away," she says awkwardly.

"That's what I thought, Mom," I say. Without waiting for a reply, I hang up and toss the phone onto the couch.

---

"Have a falling out with Mom?"

I glance up at a towel-clad Greg. A wet, towel-clad Greg.

"I had a nice, little chat with Mom," I say as I watch a droplet of water slide down Greg's shoulder. Shifting on the couch, I fight the urge to run over and help Greg dry off.

I'm amazed I can be this shallow with all the rotten crap I have going on in my mind.

Greg narrows his eyes. "Want to talk about it?"

"No, I don't, Greggo."

He sighs. "That's cool."

"It's nothing about us," I say quickly, "It's something totally different."

"No problem," Greg says.

Shutting my eyes, I rub my left temple. "Sometimes I think my mom should have stopped having kids before I was born."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

I open my eyes. "I'm just talking."

Licking his lips, the now loosely-towel-clad Greg sits down on the couch. "Nicky, I want to say something to you, and I don't want you to get mad."

"What's up?"

Greg closes his eyes. "I think you should consider talking to someone."  
  
That's the last thing I expected Greg to say. "What?" I ask incredulously.

Greg shrugs. "Lots of people talk to the department shrink. That's what he's there for. It's not going to hurt your career."

"Wait, wait." I let his words process in my mind. "You're telling me to see a shrink."

"You could talk to him about us and your concerns about coming out."

"You've _got _to be joking," I snap.

Greg puts a hand on my shoulder. "Before I came out to my parents, I used to talk to my guidance counselor. It helped."

I glare at Greg's hand as if it's some kind of mutant bug. "I'm not talking to a shrink about our love life, Greg."

Greg stares at the wall for a long few seconds, and then shifts uncomfortably, grasping the towel in order to keep it in place as he moves. Taking a long breath, Greg says, "Look, Nick. I think you've got deeper problems than just your sexual orientation."

I feel my chest begin to tighten. "What?" I almost laugh, "So, you're diagnosing me now?"

"I'm just thinking—"

"You know what, Greggo?" I say harshly, "Maybe my problem is that you're pushing too damn hard. Maybe I'm not ready for this. You're so freakin' emotional and touchy-feely."

All the color drains from Greg's face. "If you think that," he says, his voice shaking, "We can slow down."

I should shut up, but I'm on a roll.

"We can stop," I snarl.

Greg glances at me, and then averts his eyes. "Nick, see what I mean? I'm trying to talk to you. You're pushing me away."

"Then take a hint and go away," I snap. As soon as the words burst out of my mouth, I shake my head. "I'm sorry, Greg. I didn't mean that."

I'm not sure why Greg's comments set me off like this.

Maybe because a part of me thinks he's right about me seeing a shrink?

Greg bites his bottom lip. "If I'm pushing you too hard—"

I cut him off. "You're not."

"Look," he says, "Just forget the whole 'coming out' thing. We need to slow down." Then he adds almost in one breath, "I still think you should talk to someone."

I swallow. "My mom and I are having a thing right now," I say, "I took it out on you."

"We need to slow things down," Greg repeats, "We've been together every night since we started this. And you've got problems right now, so you don't need this."

"Greg," I say, "I want to be with you every night."

"I have strong feelings for you," he says, "You're not ready for that yet."

Shaking my head, I say, "Don't tell me what I'm ready for and what I'm not."

I've been in love with the guy for months. I'd call those strong feelings.

Greg leans forward. "Nicky, I need more than just a physical thing. Or a guy to hang out and watch sports with. I need to be a part of your personal life, to share it with you. I need to know what's going on in your head. Yeah, I'm emotional and touchy-feely." He stands up, flustered. "And I need to get ready for work."


	18. Cornered

Title: Good Enough

Warnings: Slash. Angsty Nick.

Chapter 18

* * *

Patty Bennet crosses her arms and nods her head curtly. "Sure I remember her. She has an attitude, that one." Patty twirls her graying blond hair between her thumb and index finger. 

"What kind of an attitude?" I ask, glancing sideways at Sara.

Gris sent Sara and me to IHOP almost as soon as we walked through the door this evening. We're checking out Molly Cooper's story.

"Oh," Patty says, "You know the kind." She leans forward as if to tell me a secret. "Privileged."

"So she gave you a hard time?" Sara asks.

"Oh, yeah. She always does."

"You mean she's a regular?" I ask.

Patty shrugs. "She comes in about twice a month."

I cross my arms. "So was she with anyone?"

Stepping to one side so a woman carrying a tray of food can pass, Patty says, "Yeah, another girl. Her age. And a boy. He was younger."

"Younger?" I say.

"About twelve."

Sara raises her eyebrows. "How long did they stay?"

Patty shakes her head ruefully. "I have no idea. I was so busy that night, hon."

"I believe it," I say, "One more question, ma'am. Did the three of them seem to be friendly?"

"Not really," Patty says, "When I brought them their food, the girls were arguing in these catty whispers. You know how girls do."

Sara and I thank Patty for her help and head out the door into the parking lot.

"So," Sara says, a hint of excitement in her voice, "Garret Ames has a thirteen-year-old son, doesn't he?"

"Yeah," I sigh, "Logan."

Garret Ames swore to me that Natalie never left Logan home alone. I guess he was right.

* * *

Gris wants me to arrange a meeting with Garret Ames and his kids. I'm really hoping this turns out to be a coincidence, that Molly was with another girl and another boy at IHOP. Maybe Greg was right when he said I'm too emotionally caught up in this. They're suspects. I shouldn't feel any differently about them than anyone else. But I do. 

Right now, I'm sitting in the break room, staring disdainfully at a chicken salad sandwich. I'm just not in the mood to eat today. My fights with Mom and Greg are weighing heavily on my mind. Consequently, I almost don't notice Brass when he sits down.

"Hey, Nick," he says.

Startled, I look up from my sandwich. "Hey, Jim. What's up?"

"Not much," he says, "Gris said you have a lead."

"Maybe."

Right about then, Greg walks in and stops short. "Hi guys," he mutters. He glances from me to Brass, and then he walks to the refrigerator.

"Hey, Greggo," I say pleasantly.

He stares intently at me for a moment. "You know what?" Greg says, with a manufactured laugh, closing the refrigerator, "I think I'm going to go out for lunch. Egg salad doesn't sound appetizing."

"I hear you," Brass says, letting his gaze go from Greg to me and back again.

"I'll go with you," I say.

"You know what, Nicky," Greg says, his voice unsteady, "I'm in one of those moods. I think I'll go alone."

"Okay," I say.

As I watch Greg walk out the door, I run my fingers through my short hair. It looks like Greg's serious about slowing down. What does this mean for tonight? I am going home to my place alone? Damn. I don't want to be alone tonight. Awkward silence with Greg would be better than the hollow sound of my own footsteps.

"Hey, Nick," Brass says.

I glance up. "Yeah?"

"What's going on between you and Sanders?"

Damn.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

Brass shrugs. "I don't know. It just feels like something's going on."

"He's in a mood, you know," I mutter weakly.

Narrowing his eyes, Brass says, "You seem to know a lot about his moods."

I lean sharply forward in my chair, placing my hands on the table for support. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Whoa, Nicky," Brass says, holding up his hands, "I don't know what I mean. It's just that people have been talking lately, you know?"

"About me?"

"Yeah, about you," he says, "About how you've been slipping up."

I shake my head. "Hey, that's settled as far as Grissom's concerned."

"Look," Brass says, "All I'm saying is people are talking. I just don't want to see things get ugly for you."

Frowning, shift uncomfortably in my chair. "Why would things get ugly?" I ask.

Brass lets out a dry laugh. "Come on, Nick," he says, "They've been talking about Sanders for years. Yeah, he's a whiz kid in the lab, but he's got a reputation."

"What kind of reputation?"

Glancing over his shoulder, Brass says, "He's weird, Nicky."

All at once, I feel my blood start to boil. "Yeah?" I say venomously, "Well, Jim. You wanna know some of the rumors I've heard about you?"

Brass grimaces. "You're gonna hit below the belt now?"

"You have been since this conversation started."

"Look," he says, leaning forward, "Bottom line. You two are looking real cozy. That's gonna get noticed, Nicky."

I stare at him. "What are you accusing me of?"

"What should I be accusing you of?"

* * *

Later that day, I hurry down the hall and out the door. I manage to spot Catherine just as she's about to climb into her car. 

"Hey, Cath," I pant, "I need to talk to you. Right now."

She reaches out and practically catches me as I come to a stop in front of her. "All right, Nick," she says, "Calm down. What's going on?"

I rub my hands briskly together. "Okay, well, Brass knows about me and Greg," I say. "Or he thinks he does, and that's as good."

Catherine rubs my shoulder. "Okay, Nick. It's just Jim."

I shake my head. "No, Catherine, he's having a real problem with it."

She shrugs. "He'll get over it."

I start to pace. "Catherine, he practically threatened me. And Greg and I are fighting, and . . ." I kick a stray rock across the parking lot.

Catherine grabs me by the arm and pulls me close to her. "Okay," she says, wrapping her arm around my shoulder, "So, you and Greg are at it. That's probably making the thing with Brass seem worse. What happened?"

I lick my lips, trying to let my breathing slow down. Finally, I say, "Well, last night, after you left, things were real tense."

"Okay."

"So, this morning, I called my mom and asked her to come to Vegas so we could talk."

Catherine squeezes my shoulder. "What did she say?"

"She turned me down," I croak, fighting back the tears, "She's not coming. And then Greg walked in at the tail end, and he thought . . . I don't know what he thought. But he told me I should see a shrink, and I said some things I shouldn't have said, and he said we should slow down." I rub my face. "I love him Catherine. I'm not ready to broadcast it to Las Vegas, but I love him."

"Okay, Nick," Catherine says, "Now what do you think Greg's main problem is? Is it the coming out thing?"

Shaking my head, I say, "No, he's not like that. I think he knows something's going on with me, and he's upset because I haven't shared it with him. But I can't."

"Well, he'd understand."

"Rationally, I know that, Catherine," I say, "But I just can't do it."

"All right," she says, leaning against her car, "What if you made an appointment with the department shrink? Just a one time thing to placate Greg?"

I take a step back. "No way," I say, "You know how I feel about shrinks. I'm not trusting a stranger with my personal problems."

Catherine gazes at me. "You don't have to say a thing. Just sit in the guy's office and talk about cars."

I cross my arms. Catherine's obviously trying to use some kind of psychology to get me onto a shrink's couch. I know she means well, but it ain't happening.

"No way," I say firmly.

"Well, you're going to have to do something," she says, "Greg won't let this go."


	19. Broken Bonds

Title: Good Enough

Chapter 19

Author's Notes: This story takes place prior to the new season—in other words, Greggo is still in the lab.

Warnings: Slash and angst.

-----

Grissom sits across from Garret Ames, his hands politely folded on the table. Gris decided at the last minute that he would join Brass and me for the interview with Garret, Logan, and Natalie Ames. Considering how the last meeting between Ames and Gris went, this could be rough. To be honest, though, I'm kind of glad Gris is here. I've felt a little uncomfortable around Brass since he "warned" me about my relationship with Greg yesterday. So much so that I pretty much freaked out on Catherine.

Following my minor meltdown, Catherine and I went out for breakfast. We talked a lot about family—parenthood in particular. Catherine keeps telling me that my mom will come around, that her refusal to deal with the abuse I suffered is because she can't cope with the idea of her child being in pain. And Catherine thinks that maybe my mom feels like she failed me somehow, that she blames herself for what happened to me.

Truthfully, some small part of me—some irrational, angry part of me—blames my mom, too.

Gazing at Garret Ames, Gris shifts in his seat. "You were supposed to bring your son along, Mr. Ames," he says.

"Logan has band practice," Ames says, staring impassively at Gris.

"Mr. Ames," I say, "We spoke to a witness who saw Molly Cooper at IHOP with a girl and a boy fitting the descriptions of your children."

"The night Daniel Kincaid was murdered," Brass adds, leaning forward, the palms of his hands flat against the table.

Ames glances at his daughter, who is sitting quietly beside him. From the look on Ames' face, I'm guessing this is news to him.

After a moment, Ames leans closer to Natalie and says, "Well?"

"Well what?" Natalie says, "It's not true, Dad. Molly and I aren't exactly friends."

Ames turns to me. "There you go," he says.

"It's not that easy, Mr. Ames," Gris says, "We need some answers."

"Ask a different question," Ames says curtly.

"All right," Gris says coolly, "Where were _you _the night Daniel Kincaid was killed?"

Shaking his head, Ames licks his lips, "You people amaze me." Leaning back in his chair, he says, "Mr. Grissom, I work two jobs."

Undeterred, Gris says, "Were you working one of them the night Daniel Kincaid was killed?"

"As a matter of fact," Ames says, "I wasn't. I had a meeting."

"With Kim Cooper?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Natalie Ames shift in her seat. She's been pretty quiet this time around. Not a glimpse of the "tough girl" she showed us during our last interview.

Ames lets out a breath. "Why does my personal life have anything to do with your investigation? I wasn't home. I admit that. So, no, I don't know if Natalie and Logan were home. No, I'm not able to vouch for them."

"Were you with Kim Cooper?" Gris asks.

Ames glares at Grissom for a long while. I can feel any nugget of trust I'd built with Garret Ames slipping away. Finally, Ames snarls, "Yeah, I was with Kim. Do you want me to provide an itinerary of our evening?"

"Perhaps later," Gris says, "Right now, I'm more interested in Natalie's itinerary."

Natalie looks pleadingly at her dad, and then runs her fingers through her hair. "I was with Logan," she says.

"Natalie," I say, "I can take a picture of you and Logan and show it to our witness. She recognized Molly."

Licking her lips, Natalie glances at her dad. "We were there," she half-whispers, "I had to talk to Molly."

"About what?" Gris asks.

"We weren't plotting murder," Natalie says, scowling.

The tough girl's back.

Gris leans forward. "Were you plotting suicide?"

"Whoa," Ames says, holding up a hand.

"Mr. Ames," Gris says, "The letters you brought me indicate that Daniel might have . . . lost perspective. The references to 'Romeo and Juliet'—"

Natalie shakes her head. "We weren't plotting anything. We were _talking_."

Brass walks around the table, stopping when he's directly behind Natalie. "The waitress at IHOP says you were arguing."

Way to go, Brass. Intimidate the girl.

As it turns out, Natalie Ames doesn't intimidate as easily as I thought. Instead of shrinking back, she spins around in her chair and looks Brass in the eye. "She was on my last nerve, and I was telling her to get the hell off of it."

I bite my lip to suppress a smile.

"Nat," Ames says, "Were you talking about Danny?"

"Ask Logan," Natalie snaps.

"Look," Ames says, "I'm sorry if you're pissed about the letters, but I'm glad Logan brought them to me. I mean, you don't tell me anything anymore."

Natalie stares at Ames. "Like father, like daughter."

This interview is dissolving into a family sniping match. I'm not sure what can really come of this. Natalie isn't giving us any information. And even if we compelled her to give a DNA sample, we don't have anything to compare it to. All we really have is a waitress that puts her in front of a plate of pancakes the night of the murder.

As the Ames' glower at each other, Gris stands up and gestures for me to follow him into the hall.

"So, what do you think?" I ask.

"What do _you_ think?" Gris tosses back, folding his arms across his chest.

I gaze at the door of the interrogation room for a moment, and then I say, "I think she's innocent. But I think she knows something." Tugging at my bottom lip, I add, "I also think that any momentum we had in the interview is gone."

"All right," Gris nods, "I agree. What else do you think?"

Shifting my body, I say, "To be honest, Gris, I think you blew whatever rapport I'd managed to establish with Garret Ames. I mean, he might've told me something. But not now."

"Well," Gris says, "I guess you're going to have to use those famous people skills of yours, Nicky. But for now, we're going to cut them loose."

-----

My people skills haven't done a thing for my relationship with Greg. After breakfast yesterday, I swung by Greg's place to sweet talk him into forgiving me for being a jerk. I managed to get in the front door and about half-way into Greg's bedroom. Unfortunately, Greg remembered his decision slow things between us down. So, he pretty much told me to go home and take a cold shower.

Consequently, I spent the remainder of a sleepless day staring at the ceiling of my bedroom.

Maybe Catherine's right. Maybe I'm gonna have to throw the guy a bone. I could make an appointment with the department shrink—just for show—and then tell Greg the shrink said I'm a little stressed-out, but overall, normal.  
  
But my luck, the shrink would lock me up on sight. Or worse yet, he'd get me to cry and totally embarrass myself. Or he'd tell Grissom I'm a loose cannon and he needs to take me off the field . . .

No way. I'm going nowhere near that quack.

Still, I have to figure out how to fix things between me and Greg. We haven't been together long, but I'm already used to the feel of Greg's body next to mine. It just doesn't feel right, lying in bed all alone. I mean, even when we're fighting, just his presence next to me, his warmth, helps me feel better.

Besides, I'm in love with the guy.

Letting out a breath, I creep around the doorway of Greg's lab. The lab tech in question has his "music" blaring out of a boombox. He's hunched over a microscope, mouthing the words to whatever's currently deafening my ears. Greg doesn't notice me, so I walk over to the boombox and flip the volume down.

The sudden silence causes Greg's head to snap up. "Nicky," he says. A ghost of a smile flits briefly across his face, then disappears. "You here on a social visit, or is it business?"

"What won't get me kicked out?" I ask.

Greg takes a step toward me. "I'm sorry about that, Nicky. I just thought we needed to stop going down that road for a while."

All at once, I feel a swell of loss erupt in my gut. Worrying that I might break down right in front of Greg, I turn my back to try and pull myself together. After a moment, I turn back to face Greg.

"So, you're gonna run away?" I say.

"Nicky, I'm not running away. I just—"

"Then what do you call it?" I counter.

Greg shakes his head and leans against his station. "You need to deal with your problems."

"So until then, I'm banished from your life?"

"That's not what I said."

Throwing my hands up in the air, I walk a few steps across the lab. I'm not going anywhere in particular. I just feel the need to keep moving. "Here's what I'm hearing," I say, "You're issuing me an ultimatum. Either I do what you want, or I'm out."

Greg takes a step toward me. "Nicky—"

"Know what, Greggo?" I say, "I can't live like that."

"I didn't give you an ultimatum," Greg says, his voice cracking.

"Sounded like that," I shout, "Well, you know what, man? You were right about us. This isn't working—"

"Stop putting words into my mouth, Nick. I never—"

"We're done, Greg," I snap, "We're done."

For I don't know how long, we both stand there, simmering. I don't know about Greg, but I feel a little shell-shocked. I think I just shattered our relationship for good. But right now . . . I don't much care.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, I hear a cough. When I glance up, I see Bobby Dawson standing in the doorway, looking more than a little embarrassed. He looks like he's headed out for the day.

When neither Greg nor I say anything, Bobby takes a step into the lab. "You guys all right?" 

Greg and I simultaneously nod and mutter something about how "we're good."

Bobby smiles pleasantly and walks the rest of the way into the room. "Just so you know, you guys got a little loud."

Damn.

"How loud?" I ask.

Bobby runs his fingers through his curly hair. "I-heard-you-down-the-hall-loud."

Greg peers into his microscope. "Well, shift's up. Most people are gone. Day shift's probably having a morning meeting."

"Probably," Bobby says.

Bobby's being pretty cool about this, but I don't feel much better. Brass already warned me that Greg and I might get a hard time if anyone finds out about us. And anyone could have heard us.

"Listen," Bobby says, "I'm meeting David down at the diner. You guys want to come?"

"I'd love to," Greg says, sporting what I'm sure is a forced smile, "But the zany day shift version of me is going to be late. I'm covering for him."

"How about you, Nick?" Bobby says placing a hand on my shoulder.

"Ah, I don't know, Bobby" I say, shifting from one foot to the other.

Undeterred, Bobby smacks my shoulder. "Come on," he says, gesturing toward the door.

I gaze briefly at Greg, and then, shoulders-slumped, I follow Bobby out the door.


	20. Pride Hurts

Title: Good Enough

Chapter 20

Author's Notes: First of all, this is a short chapter, not much action. I needed to set this up to explain Nick's feelings, to bring Bobby in for later, and to set up the next chapter. Additionally, even though the scene where Bobby comes out was never shown on the air, I'm going to consider it canon that Bobby is gay. Cool?

Author's Notes: The Shabby Sequel: This is a repost. When I putting up chapter 21, I noticed that this chapter seemed to break off early. I never noticed that before, and none of you mentioned the abrupt end, so maybe this is a recent thing. Or maybe I need sleep. _(shrugs)_

Warnings: Slash, but if you haven't figured that out, you might want to take another look at the previous chapters.

-----

Bobby and I are sitting in the diner with David, working our way through pancakes and eggs. David's been gushing for twenty minutes about his girlfriend, Rachel. It sounds pretty serious. I'm happy for him, because he's a good guy who deserves to be happy. He does. But to be honest, just listening to him is making the gnawing pain in my stomach throb. All in all, though, I'm pretty relieved that David's with us. Right now, he's the only thing saving me from an awkward emotional _thing_ with Bobby.

I'm still kind of stunned that Bobby overheard Greg and me fighting. All my talk about keeping a low profile, and I'm the one who blows our cover. As far as I know, Bobby is the only person who heard our fight, but who knows.

"Well, guys," David says, standing up, "I'd better get home."

"Scared of the little woman?" Bobby asks, a grins filling his face.

David smiles shyly. "She rented _Love Story_."

I can't help but smile at the thought of David trying not to cry over some sappy old movie. "Come on, SuperDave," I tease, "Be a man. Stay a while."

"I would," David says, turning bright red, "But she has this…romantic afternoon planned."

"Well, you have a good time," Bobby says, winking at David. "I got the check."

Nodding, a flustered-looking David stumbles to the door, waves awkwardly, and then disappears outside, leaving me alone with Bobby.

After a few seconds, Bobby pops a spoonful of eggs into his mouth. "So," he smiles pleasantly, "you want to talk about it?"

"You've been waiting all through breakfast to say that, haven't you?" I ask, glancing down at a piece of lint on my jeans.

Bobby nods. "Well, you look like you could use a talk. You took an emotional beating today."

Letting out a breath, I say, "Well, I gave one, too."

Bobby chuckles. "The nicest people can take the gloves off when they fight. The last big argument my partner and I got into—I don't even remember what it was about—but I thought he and I were done with. Some of the things I said…" He shakes his head and snatches the bill off the table.

I narrow my eyes. "Your partner? Partner in what?"

This time, Bobby laughs out loud. "My boyfriend, Nick. Although, we've been together a little too long and we're a little too old to call each other 'boyfriend.' Don't you think?"

The blood rushes to my cheeks, making them, I'm sure, a dark shade of scarlet. "I didn't know."

"That's all right," he says, not masking the amusement in his eyes, "I don't guess too many people do. I mean, I don't hide it, but I keep it to myself."

"Anyone at work know?"

Bobby nods. "Grissom. And Ecklie probably. I don't know. I told Grissom when I started because I wanted to make sure it wouldn't be a problem. He's been great about it, though. Archie and David know, too."

I sit back, reflecting on this new information. I guess it stands to reason that other people at the lab are gay or bi. It's not like Greg and I are the first men to discover an attraction to other men.

Taking a sip of apple juice, Bobby says, "I always _told_ David you and Greg have a thing for each other."

"What?" I say, blinking.

Bobby grins. "It's pretty obvious." After a few seconds, Bobby reaches over and pats me on the shoulder. "Well, it's probably not obvious to everybody."

"It's pretty new," I say, shrugging, "Over and done with now, though, I suppose."

"Do you love him?" Bobby says seriously.

"Yeah, I do," I say.

"Then get your butt back there and apologize."

I shake my head. "No way. He gave me an ultimatum. That's not right."

Bobby points at me. "That's pride talking."

"Well, I'm from Texas," I say.

"Look, Nick," Bobby drawls, "Problem ain't going to fix itself."

"I know that," I say. I gulp some orange juice, and then lean forward. "Bobby, can I ask you something?"

Bobby nods. "Shoot." Bobby pauses a beat, and then grins, "No pun intended."

Licking my bottom lip, I ask, "Have you ever had any problems because of your…orientation?"

Leaning back, Bobby grabs a napkin off the table and starts to rip it into pieces. "I'm not going to lie to you, Nick. The last place I worked, there were comments. But nothing physical, if that's what you mean."

I shift in my seat. "Brass kind of told me things could get ugly if news about Greg and me gets out."

"You tell Grissom?"

"Oh, that'd make me popular," I half-laugh.

"Look," Bobby says, tossing the torn napkin onto the table, "Brass is old school. He was probably just talking."

"But he might have a point."

Bobby crosses his arms. "Was that the ultimatum? Greg wants out of the closet?"

"It's more than that," I say. Taking a breath, I continue, "I'm having some problems with my mom, right now, and since Greg and I are together, he thinks I should share everything with him."

"So, you don't want to emote and get touchy-feely."

I smile. "Not so much, no."

"That still sounds like the pride talking, Nick. Just think about it." Bobby stands up. "I'm going to take off, all right? I'll take care of the check." He regards me for a moment. "Call me at home if you want to talk some more."

I nod and watch as Bobby strolls up to the counter. Deep down, I know he's right. I'm being stubborn, proud, and silly. If I want to save this relationship, I need to drag myself back to the lab and grovel. But right now…I just can't let seem to my guard down.


	21. Bandages

Title: Good Enough

Chapter 21

Author's Notes: Do you people realize that I use the word, "Greggo," so much that I had to add it to my computer's dictionary?! _(shrugs)_

-----

"Nick?"

I glance around the room. A curtain, a woman dressed in scrubs, and lots of white. The ER. Right. I remember being brought here, but I guess I must've taken a good hit to the head, because everything's hazy.

"Grissom?" I say. "Is that you?" I close my eyes tight. When I reopen them, sure enough, I see Grissom standing in front of me. Or actually, he's kind of swaying back and forth.

I vaguely recall the nurse asking me for a number so they could call someone to pick me up, but the only numbers I could remember were my locker combination and Grissom's cell phone. And since my locker probably wasn't going to sprout legs and catch a taxi over to get me, I went with Grissom.

"Are you all right?" Grissom asks, a hint of worry coloring his voice.

"Never better," I say, as I reach a hand up to massage my throbbing temple.

Grissom narrows his eyes. "Do you know where we are?"

"Hospital."

"Yeah, you're in the Emergency Room," Grissom says, "Do you remember what happened?"

I remember walking down the street, trying to decide if I should get hammered or go home like the dependable sap I am, or if I should crawl over to Greg and beg for mercy. Then there were these two guys—something about my wallet, a crack about my accent…

"Mugged," I say.

Grissom nods. "Attempted. Fortunately, they didn't get anything. A couple of college kids broke it up before it got too far."

I glance down at my bandaged wrist. "Should we send flowers or candy?" I ask.

"What?" Grissom asks, giving me a strange look. When he realizes I'm not answering, he says, "You have a broken wrist, some bruised ribs, and some cuts. You also took a bottle to the head, but the guys who brought you here say you never lost consciousness."

I nod. Letting out a breath, I shift on the exam table, trying to get more comfortable. But my movement sparks a sudden wave of nausea, so I clutch the sides of the table in an effort to keep from fainting.

"Nicky?" Grissom says.

I reach out and grab Grissom's shoulder. "Will you stop moving around like that?" I plead, "You're making me dizzy."

"Is this normal?" I hear Grissom ask.

"Who really knows what normal is?" I say, digging my fingers into Grissom's shoulders.

A new voice jumps into the conversation. "We gave him some medication for the pain," the voice says. "He's going to be goofy for a while."

I turn to glare at the source of the voice, a pretty young nurse with brown hair. "I'm not goofy," I inform her. "Greg gets to be goofy. I'm the _dependable_ one."

"Thanks for clearing that up," the nurse says.

"Do you know how hard it is to be the _dependable_ one?" I press.

"Actually, I do," the nurse says sympathetically.

Narrowing his eyes, Grissom says, "All right, you just sit tight. My kit is in my car. I'll go and—"

"No way, Gris," I say. "I'm not going there."

Besides, the way this room is spinning around, how could he get anything done?

"Nick," Grissom says, letting out a long-suffering breath.

I shake my head. "Gris, would you stop being a CSI for a second? I don't need people to know my private business."

"Nick," Grissom says authoritatively. He frowns as if he's about to launch into a lecture about justice and being rational. But then he lets out a long, haggard breath. "All right," he says.

"Thank you," I say, my fingers digging further into Grissom's shoulder.

Wincing in pain, Grissom says, "Why don't you lay back, Nicky?"

"Because I'm sick of sleeping alone," I say.

It's weird. I know I shouldn't be saying half of what I'm saying, but I just can't seem to help myself. It's like watching someone in a horror movie sneak into a dark basement. You know they're going to get stabbed or something, but no matter how much you yell at the screen, they keep going.

Wearily, I surrender to Grissom's leading and lay back on the exam table. As I lie there, I can hear the nurse giving Grissom instructions about my medicine. They sound like they're in another room, even though I know they're standing beside me.

Finally, Grissom grasps my shoulders and hauls me into a sitting position. "Let's get you home, Nicky."

"Let's go out," I suggest.

Grissom steers me toward the exit. "You need rest, Nick. We'll stop at the pharmacy down the block, and then I'll take you home. I'll call Catherine and see if she can—"

"I don't want to go home, Gris," I say. "The day's young."

Suddenly, my knees start to buckle, so Grissom wraps his arms around my waist to steady me. When he's satisfied that I won't crash into the pavement, he pushes me onward toward his waiting car.

Somehow (by magic?), we reach Grissom's car, and he busies himself buckling me into the seatbelt. I'm only vaguely aware of everything that's going on around us. I can hear people talking, and I can see blurry figures wandering past Grissom's shoulder. But my body feels heavy and warm, and somehow, it seems like Grissom and I are in another world entirely.

"You can be very nurturing," I murmur.

Grissom raises his eyebrows. "Really? I thought I was an unfeeling robot."

"You're a nurturing robot," I correct him.

As we pull out of the hospital parking lot, Grissom says, "Okay, we'll stop and get these prescriptions filled, and then I'll take you home. Also, the nurse said you should eat, so why don't—"

"The unfeeling robot's back," I say.

"What?"

I tilt my head, which is currently resting on the headrest, to look at Grissom. "I don't want to go home," I say, "I want to go to Greg's."

Grissom nods. "All right. When we get to the pharmacy, I'll call and make sure he's there."

I shake my head (which seems to weigh about 500 pounds). "He leaves his phone off the hook when he's not on call."

"Really?" Grissom says, "That's interesting information. I'll have to remember that."

-----

"Nicky? Come on. We're here."

I open my eyes, but I snap them back shut, as I'm temporarily blinded by the brightness of the day.

Grissom nudges my shoulder. "Come on," he says.

Letting out a rebellious moan, I inch my way out of the car. "I thought we were going to the pharmacy first," I whine.

"You've been asleep since we left the hospital, Nicky," Grissom says. "We stopped by the pharmacy, and I filled your prescription. I also picked up some juice."

"Oh."

Grissom pulls me into a standing position. "Do you need me to hold onto you?"

"Nope," I say. "I don't mind falling."

In response, Grissom clutches me a little more tightly, and then steers me toward Greg's building. After a couple of minutes—or maybe an hour—Grissom and I reach the lobby of Greg's building.

As Grissom pushes the buzzer to announce our presence, I slump against the wall and watch a tall blonde from Greg's floor carry her white Persian cat toward the exit. The woman glances back at me, narrows her eyes, and then marches regally out the door.

After a moment, I feel Grissom take me by the arm and pull me into the elevator. As we near Greg's floor, it dimly occurs to me that Greg might not want me here. I squeeze my eyes closed to ward off that thought.

When we reach Greg's door, he's already standing in the doorway, waiting. "What happened?" Greg asks, stepping back to let us in.

"He was mugged," Grissom says.

"Attempted," I say.

"Oh God," Greg says. "You okay, Nicky?"

I stand in the middle of Greg's apartment for a second, trying to get my bearings. Then, I feel my legs buckle and before I know it, I'm sitting on the ground.

Greg kneels beside me. "Let's try sitting on the couch, okay?"

"I'm sorry," I choke.

Greg pats me on the back. "S'okay," he whispers. "Help me with him, Gris."

As the two men steer me toward the couch, Grissom says, "He was lucky. A couple of college kids jumped in and ran off his attackers."

"Should we send flowers or candy?" Greg asks.

Grissom flashes Greg an odd look, and then says, "He's heavily medicated. He needs to take an antibiotic soon, but he needs to eat with it."

"I'll make some soup or something," Greg says.

"Greg," I say, grabbing his arm. "I'm sorry."

"Let's not worry about that now, Nick," Greg says.

"Greg," Grissom says. "I'll make some food. You just handle him."

_Handle me_, I think. _That's an apt way to put it_.

"When can I take another pain killer?" I ask. "My head's starting to hurt."

The pain's starting to clear my head a little, too. I'm still pretty hazy, but at least the room isn't spinning around.

Greg starts to knead the muscles in my neck. Gently, he puts an arm around me and gives me a little shake. "You trying to freak me out, Nick? What happened?"

I shrug. "I wasn't paying attention to my surroundings. I guess they got the drop on me. I had stuff on my mind."

"Stuff?" Greg murmurs.

Greg tries to make eye contact with me, but I focus my gaze on Greg's kitchen.

Greg presses on. "I've had some things on my mind, too."

"Yeah?" I say.

"Yeah."

About then, Grissom breezes out of the kitchen, a dishtowel in his hands. He doesn't seem to notice that Greg has his arm around one of his CSIs. "How about I make some sandwiches, too?"

"Okay," Greg says. "Sounds like a workable plan." Turning to me, Greg says, "Let's get you out of that bloody shirt, Nicky."

I glance down at my denim shirt and realize for the first time that it's not only stained with blood, it's also ripped. Damn.

Grissom tosses the dishtowel over his shoulder. "You want me to have Catherine stop by Nick's townhouse and get some of his clothes?"

Greg shakes his head. "No, he has clothes here." As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Greg looks at me and winces. Turning to Grissom, Greg shrugs and says, "He crashes here sometimes."

"I see," Grissom says, raising an eyebrow. Then he turns on his heel and strolls into the kitchen.

Greg leans close to me. "Sorry," he whispers.

I swallow. "Nah, Greggo. I asked him to bring me here."

Pushing me onto the bed, Greg crosses the room and tugs open a drawer. Returning with a t-shirt and sweats, he says, "I could've played it off better. I'm sorry."

As Greg unbuttons my shirt, I say, "It seems like apologizing is all either one of us gets done."

Greg licks his lips and says, his voice cracking, "Yeah, well. Whatever."

I lean forward and kiss him on the forehead. It's a nice gesture, but to be honest, I was aiming for his lips. "Let's stop apologizing for awhile, okay?"

Greg smiles slightly. "That'll last about ten minutes."

Holding his jaw with my unbandaged hand, I kiss him again, this time connecting with his lips. "Better than nothing," I say. "You know?"

Greg doesn't answer me. Instead, he gently pecks me on the lips, and then starts to help me pull the t-shirt over my broken wrist.


	22. Truths

Title: Good Enough

Chapter 22

Author's Notes: This is a short chapter because it's heavy, and I didn't want it to drag.

Spoilers: "Overload"

Warnings: Discussion of past sexual abuse.

-

"Wakey, wakey."

My eyes flutter open at the sound of Greg's voice, but slam closed again when they make contact with the too-bright light emanating from the ceiling.

"Leave me alone, man," I grouse. "I was dreaming here." With a groan, I snatch a pillow from Greg's side of the bed and smash it against my face.

"Okay," Greg says. "If you insist."

When I hear him start to pad across the room, I toss the pillow to the ground and reach out to grab Greg's arm. "Get back here, Sanders," I say. "I'm awake, now."

Sitting down on the side of the bed, Greg grins. "So this dream," he says. "Was I in it?"

Swallowing, I say, "You might have made a guest appearance."

"I've always thought of myself as the star," Greg pouts.

I gaze at Greg for a moment, and then close my eyes, trying to ward off the dull pain in my temple.

Squeezing my shoulder, Greg asks, "How ya feeling?"

I run my fingers over my bandaged ribs. "I ache all over, man. My head's killing me."

Greg kneads the muscles in my shoulder and neck. "I'm making us some food," he says. "So I can give you a pain pill in a while. Will you be all right 'til then?"

"Yeah, no rush." I glance at the clock. "Hey, aren't you supposed to be at work?"

Greg shrugs. "I told Grissom I wasn't coming in. He said that was okay."

Grissom. Oh, crap.

I try to sit up in bed, but when my ribs start to protest, I think better of it. "So Grissom knows?" I croak.

Greg flashes a rueful smile. "Yeah, Nicky. He knows."

"What did he say?"

"Nothing." Greg runs his fingers through his hair. "Well, he asked how long we'd been together, so I told him. You know, I figured we were busted, so…"

I grab his hand. "So, you told him we're together? I thought we were taking a break."

Greg grins. "All right, smart ass." Gazing up at the ceiling, he says, "I don't think Grissom's going to make a big deal out of it. I think he was just ticked off he didn't figure it out on his own."

"That's Grissom," I say. I shift my body to one side, trying to take some of the pressure off my battered ribs. "Man," I say. "I haven't been this banged up since Nigel Crane got done with me."

Greg cocks his head. "Wow. You haven't mentioned that name in a while."

Adjusting the pillow under my broken wrist, I say, "Yeah, I guess I haven't."

"Want to talk about it?" Greg asks.

I tighten my lips. "What's to talk about? He was a psycho."

Greg nods. "All right," he says, shrugging. "I'm going to go get your food and pill, okay?""

"Okay, Greggo."

After Greg leaves, I shift my body around some more, trying and failing to get comfortable. I hope Warrick and Hodges don't give me a hard time when I get back to work. I wouldn't blame them, though. I always seem to be the guy who winds up in this kind of situation.

That's me—Nick the victim. Nick the emotional one. Nick the dependable one. I get so _sick _of being that guy.

The sudden sound of my cell phone pulls me out of my reverie. Reaching over with my good hand, I snatch the cell off Greg's night stand and flip it open. "Stokes," I say.

"Hey, Nick. Heard you got into a little trouble."

Bobby.

"Hey, Bobby," I say, grinning slightly. "What's up?"

"Oh, robbery and homicide," he sing-songs. "The usual. Are you at home?"

I roll my eyes. "I'm at Greg's."

"You are?" I can practically _hear_ Bobby smirking. "That's good."

"Yeah, it is," I chuckle. "He's playing nursemaid."

Bobby bursts out laughing. "I'm gonna leave that one alone," he says.

"Okay, funny guy," I say, grinning.

About then, Greg pushes his way into the room, balancing two trays filled with food. "Dinner is served," he says with a flourish.

"Well, Bobby," I say. "Greg's back with dinner."

"Hi, Bobby," Greg calls, as he plunks the trays down on the bed.

"You hear him?" I ask.

"Yeah," Bobby chuckles. "Tell him I said 'hi.' Well, I'll let you eat, Nick. You take care now."

"I'll try," I say.

"Well, good luck, big guy," Bobby says. "And Nick? Ditch the pride."

-

Greg and I make small talk while we eat. For the most part, the conversation is calm and pleasant. But if I'm being honest, it's pretty obvious that things are still problematic between us. I mean, let's say I'd shown up a few hours ago without the bandages and prescriptions. Would Greg have let me in the door? Or would he have given me his "we're moving too fast" song and dance? I'm guessing the latter.

On the other hand, he's been pretty affectionate, and that would be a pretty rotten thing to do if he plans to show me the door as soon as I'm back on my feet.

My mind's been replaying my breakfast conversation with Bobby—and not just since he called, but earlier today, while I was lying here, trying to fall asleep. He has a point about my pride. I mean, I've never thought of myself that way—as a proud man, that is. But maybe that's what it all boils down to. If I tell Greg the truth about what happened to me, I'll be exposed…naked. Any control I have right now—which isn't a whole lot—will be gone. And Greg will know how damaged I really am.

"Earth to Nick."

I glance at Greg. "Huh?"

Greg narrows his eyes. "Are you okay?"

I nod. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay."

Stacking our empty dishes onto the plastic trays, Greg says, "Okey-dokey. I'll go slave away at dishes, while _you_,"he points, "Can get some rest."

I watch in a daze as Greg heads toward the door. I guess it's now or never.

"Greg," I spit, letting out a staggered breath.

He stops in the doorway. "Yeah?"

Licking my lips, I say, "I think…I think I'm ready to talk to you now."

Greg stares at me for a few moments. Then he places the trays on top of his dresser and walks over to me, dropping himself onto the side of the bed. "Okay."

Exhaling, I say, "Okay. Okay, man. It's like this. Nigel Crane wasn't the first person to, uh, victimize me."

Victimize. I hate that word. I hate it.

Greg cocks his head until he makes eye contact with me—which isn't very easy, considering how hard I'm trying to avoid his gaze. "What do you mean?" Greg asks. "You mean you were stalked before?"

Part of me wants to bolt out of the room, but my body hurts so much that Greg would have to wheel me out himself. I close my eyes, as if the mere act will somehow summon extra courage. "Not stalked," I say. "Victimized another way." Glancing out the window at the darkening sky, I say, "I had a babysitter." I pause when I feel Greg flinch slightly. He doesn't take his arm away, though, so I continue. "I was nine years old," I say, swallowing. "She'd never sat for me before. I thought she was so nice at first."

"It's okay," Greg says.

"No, it's not Greg. Why do people say that?" With my uninjured hand, I wipe away a tear that's managed to escape my eye. "I thought she was nice," I stammer. "But she did things to me, Greg. She did things." Losing the battle to control my tears, I start to sob. "She said it was our secret."

"Oh, God. Nick."

Burying my face in my hands, I choke, "I'm sorry, Greg."

Greg takes my face in his hands. "You have nothing to be sorry for, baby. You didn't do anything wrong."

"You know," I choke. "Part of me knows that. But dammit…why am I always the victim?" I grasp my pillow and toss it across the room. "Why?"

Kissing me on the forehead, Greg says, "Nicky, that…she messed with your mind. You were a little kid. You didn't do a thing wrong."

"I didn't want to do those things," I hiccup.

"I know, baby." He takes my face in his hands again. "Not. Your. Fault."

Gazing at the bedroom ceiling, I say, "After it happened, I tried _so_ hard to be good. I thought if I was good, if I didn't cause trouble, I'd feel better. But I never did."

Squeezing my hand, Greg says, "You tried to be perfect."

"Yeah, I guess." I lick my lips. "But I could never be good enough."

Leaning forward, Greg kisses me on the cheek. "You're more than good enough, Nicky."


	23. Healing

Title: Good Enough

Chapter 23

Warnings: Fluff alert!

* * *

I'm currently lying flat on my back in Greg's bed. No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to get comfortable. The pain in my ribs has evened out to a dull ache, but in some ways, that's almost worse that the pounding throb I had when I arrived here three days ago.

In a vain effort to get comfortable, I've pretty much managed to tear all the covers off the bed. And that's okay by me, because from where I'm lying, they look just fine on the ground.

Letting out a breath, I tilt my head to gaze at the clock. It's early morning, so unless Greg stopped off somewhere, he should be home soon. Last night was Greg's first night back at the lab since Grissom dumped me on his doorstep. Consequently, I've not only been lying here in pain. I've also been all alone and bored out of my mind.

The real kicker though, is that without Greg here to distract me, I've had plenty of time to think. I have to say, Greg's been just great since I spilled my guts to him the other day. He's been trying, however awkwardly, to be supportive and to not push me too hard.

But at the same time, Greg's also been keeping his distance physically. I mean, granted, I'm injured, so I don't expect him to jump me. But I have to wonder if he's using my bruised ribs and broken wrist as handy excuses not to touch me. One of my greatest fears with telling Greg about what happened to me was that he'd be repulsed by me. Now…I don't know. I don't know.

About then, I hear a tap on the bedroom door. "Knock-knock," a voice calls. The door cracks open slightly. "You decent?"

Sara.

I prop myself up and my elbows, wincing as I realize what a mess the room is right now. "Hey Sara. Come on in."

Sara pushes the door open and ambles over to the bed. "How you doing, Rocky?"

"Funny," I say. "How'd you get in?"

She holds up Greg's apartment key. "Greg went to the store. I told him I'd head on over and keep you company." She sits down on the bed. "So, everyone's been worried about you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. In fact…" She hands me a stiff pink envelope and beams, "Everyone signed it."

"Ah," I say, plastering a smile all over my face. "The ever-popular office card." I tug it out of the envelope, flip it open, and grimace. "Oh look. Hodges says I should learn how to duck."

"He's just jealous," Sara says, grinning. Tucking one leg under her other, she glances around the room and asks, "So what'd you do? Kick Greg out of his bed?"

If I were the witty-comeback kind of guy, there are so many ways I could answer that. Instead, though, I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek.

"What's so funny?" Sara asks, a baffled look on her face.

"Nothing," I say. "Hey. How about helping the invalid out of bed? I want try sitting in the living room."

She narrows her eyes. "Are you supposed to get out of bed?"

"My ribs feel much better," I say.

"Nick," she says. "That didn't answer my question."

I hold out my hand. "Come on," I pout. "Pretty please?"

Letting out a breath, she snatches my hand. "All right," she relents. "But if you start to start to hurt, you let me know. Okay?"

"Okay," I say, nodding my head vigorously.

As Sara eases me out of bed, I say, "I'm really in pretty good shape."

"Sure you are," Sara says, placing her hand on the small of my back.

"No, really," I assure her. "My ribs ache, but mostly when I move around a lot, or try to lie in one place for too long."

"According to Grissom, you also have a couple of nasty cuts," she says. "Here, let's get you stationary." Helping me lower myself into a chair, she continues, "So, Catherine said she'd stop by tomorrow. And Warrick's working a double, so he said to tell you hello."

"A double?" I ask. "That sucks. 'Course, by the end of this week, I'll probably be jonesing for a triple."

As Sara grabs a pillow off the couch and places it gingerly behind my back, the front door swings open, and Greg stumbles in carrying several bags of groceries.

Sara hurries over and grabs a bag that's teetering precariously against Greg's side.

"Why thank you, Sara," Greg says dramatically. "I don't see Nick there jumping up to help."

"You're hysterical, G," I quip.

Grinning, Greg glances over his shoulder and winks.

After a few minutes of rustling paper bags, clanging cabinets, and soft laughter, Sara and Greg march back into the living room. Sara is carrying three cans of cola, while Greg is balancing three glasses full of ice and a bag of raw carrots.

"I see you didn't touch the sandwich I left you for lunch," Greg says. "I don't suppose you've taken a pain pill."

I smile guiltily. "The food was way too far away."

"Well, I put a frozen pizza in." He hands me the carrots. "This'll be enough so you can take the pill, though. Bedroom?"

I nod, and Greg disappears into the bedroom.

"So," Sara says, as she plunks down on the couch. "Greg tells me you're off a full week."

I lean my head back against the plush surface of my chair. "Yup. And you know, I'm already bored out of my skull."

"Poor Nicky," Greg says, as he breezes back into the living room. Pointing at the bedroom, he continues, "You know, I remade the bed while you were in the bathroom last night, and what do you do?"

"I was restless," I say.

"I know," Greg says, squeezing my shoulder. He flips the lid off my pain pills and places one into the palm of my hand. Then, he leans down, rips open the bag of carrots and deposits it onto my lap. "Eat," he says. "Those pills will make you sick to your stomach."

"Nag, nag, nag," I say.

Greg smirks. "What would you do if I wasn't here to nag you?"

Laughing softly, I glance around Greg at Sara, who's sitting on the couch watching Greg and me with interest. "I'm sure Cath or Sara would nag me," I say. "Right Sara?"

Sara grins. "You know it," she says, pulling herself off the couch. "Hey guys, I'm going to go check on the pizza.

"No," Greg says. "You're our guest. I'll take care of it."

Sara relents and lowers herself back onto the couch. She watches as Greg disappears into the kitchen, and then she turns to me and says, "He takes good care of you, Nick."

I smile. "Well, someone has to."

Sara gazes at the door that leads to the kitchen. "He doesn't do it because he has to."

Licking my lips, I nod. "He's a good friend."

Snatching my nearly-empty glass from the side table, Sara says, "You guzzled this right down. I'll get another one."

Sara doesn't wait for me to argue. She just blasts through the kitchen door like a woman on a mission. The expression on her face has me worried. It's the look she gets when she's on the trail of a suspect, and she's just found a smoking hot piece of evidence.

A few minutes later, Greg and Sara emerge with the pizza, some fresh cans of cola, and an armload of plates and napkins. As they amble toward me, Greg leans down and whispers something in Sara's ear. She chuckles softly and shoots him a scolding look.

Twisting my neck so I can glance over my shoulder at the pair, I say, "I thought you two ran off on me."

"Sara tried to persuade me," Greg says. "But you know what I did? I broke her heart."

* * *

The evening passes pretty quickly. Sara seems lighter than I've seen her in a while, and fortunately for me, she seems to have forgotten her morbid fear that I'm going to hurt myself. Greg seems pretty relaxed, too. I don't know if he's feeling better about what I told him, or if he's more at ease because we have Sara the Human Buffer here tonight.

A couple hours later, Sara finally gets up to leave. Leaning down, she gives me a little peck on the cheek. "I'll try to stop back," she says. Then, turning to Greg, she adds, "Greg. Thanks for dinner. This is the closet thing to a social life I've had in a while."

"No problem," he chuckles. "I'll walk you to the door, m'lady."

I watch as Greg and Sara stand in the doorway and whisper a conversation to each other. I've always hated it when people whisper in front of me. I always think they're talking about me. This time…well, I'm pretty sure they aren't talking about Grissom.

Finally, Sara backs out into the hallway, and Greg presses the door closed. After a few seconds, he turns to me and says, "I'll go make the bed. Uh…you think you want to wash up now, or wait a while?"

"I'll wait," I say.

Greg claps his hands together a little too enthusiastically. "Okay, so I guess I'll do the dishes."

"I thought you were going to make the bed."

Greg stares at me, his arms swinging at his sides. "Or I could go and do that."

"Something bugging you, Greg?"

"No," he says, shaking his head. "No, I'm just wired up. Way too much caffeine."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

As Greg bustles toward the bedroom, I say, "So, Sara knows, right?"

Greg turns and walks back to me. "Yeah," he says, letting out a breath. "Yeah. In fact, Nick, I think we might've made her night." Flashing a quick grin, he adds, "She, uh, thinks we make a cute couple. And I got explicit instructions not to hurt you, incidentally."

"That would be nice," I say.

Greg cocks his head at me. "You upset about something, Nick?"

I shift in my chair. "Nah," I say. "I'm just uncomfortable."

Greg gazes at me for a few seconds and then turns to walk into the bedroom. "We can get you back into bed in a little while, 'kay?"

"How about you?" I ask abruptly. "You uncomfortable?"

Turning back to face me, Greg says, "What are you talking about?"

I take in a deep breath, and then I slowly release it. "You uncomfortable around me now?"

Greg takes a few steps toward me. "Nick, I thought we kind of ironed that out."

With a groan, I sit up and lean forward. "How is that? What did we iron out?"

Greg glances around the room as if someone else might be lurking in the background. "I know what's been bothering you now."

"And?"

"And I understand you better now. I—"

I wave Greg over. "Come're. Come're and sit down." I move my legs over and pat the ottoman.

Slowly, Greg inches over to me and sits down.

"Now, I'm glad I told you what I told you. But…But I think we still have some things to talk about, and I think we should get it out there."

"Nick—"

I shake my head. "No way. You're the one who wanted to open that can of touchy feely."

"Huh?"

"You know what I mean," I bluster.

Slumping his shoulders, Greg says, "Okay, Nick. You have the floor."

I lick my lips. "All right," I say, shifting in my chair. "You haven't touched me since I told you what happened to me."

Greg moves his hand toward me, but stops just short of my arm. Curling his fingers into a fist, he says, "I don't want to hurt you."

"Are you turned off by me?" I ask.

"What?"

"Greggo, come on," I croak out. "Are you still attracted to me?"

"Are you kidding?" Greg runs his fingers through his hair. "You're a hottie. You're too sexy for that chair you're sitting in right now."

I swallow and lean forward. "All right. Then why haven't you touched me? You've been lying next to me in bed for two days, and you haven't touched me."

"You're injured."

"That's an excuse."

"Maybe," he admits, crossing his arms. "Look, Nicky. I'm just trying to give you some space. This is new territory for me. I'm not…not sure what you need from me."

"I need you to touch me," I say.

Greg gazes at me for a moment, and then he glances away. "I don't want to push you."

"You not pushing me," I say. "I'm _asking_ you to touch me. Even hold my hand, man."

Biting his bottom lip, Greg reaches down and grasps my fingers. He gives them a squeeze, and then releases them. Slowly, he leans forward and gives me a chaste kiss on the lips. Pulling back slightly, he gazes at me for a few seconds, and then scoots his body closer to mine. Placing a gentle hand on each of my shoulders for support, Greg tilts his head forward and presses his lips to mine.

The kiss is gentle at first, but soon, it become crushing and frenzied. Threading the fingers of one hand through Greg's hair, I deepen the lip lock, all the while ignoring the screaming ache in my ribs. Encouraged, Greg moves even closer, snakes a hand under my t-shirt, and starts caressing my chest and abs. When he connects with a tender part of my ribs, I pull away with a jolt.

"Hang on, G," I groan. "Ribs."

Greg pulls back, flushed and breathless. "What?"

Through the pain, I try to flash a lop-sided grin. "My ribs, man. Pain. Ow. Y'know?"

"You okay?"

"Yeah," I wince. Smiling, I lick my lips and say, "I guess we're not doing _that_, though."

Greg chuckles softly. "I guess not." Placing another chaste kiss on my lips, he shifts to the arm of the chair and wraps one arm around my shoulders and growls, "But just you wait 'til you're healthy again, mister."


	24. Rebuilding Bridges

Title: Good Enough

Chapter 24

Author's Notes: WOO-HOO! I've finally finished a new chapter! Thanks to **JennaM**, over at talk CSI for reading this chapter over for me. Hugs!

* * *

"Just don't push yourself."

"Yes, dear."

Placing the orange juice onto the top rack in the refrigerator, Greg flashes a sloppy grin over his shoulder. Tonight's my first night back at work since I was mugged, and I'm jazzed about going back in. I've been bored stiff here all by myself while Greg's been working his shift.

Greg wipes his hands off with a dish towel, and then he walks over to me. He leans forward and brushes a stray thread off my jeans. "Well, if I don't nag you, you'll strain yourself, and if you're going to strain yourself, it should be with me."

I smirk. "I think I did that last night."

He pulls back and gazes at me. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, worrywart," I say. "Except for that bite mark you left."

He grins, and if I didn't know better, I'd say he looks downright bashful. "Sorry about that," he says. "At least it's not the neck this time."

I let out a laugh. "Yeah, I'm lucky." I walk across the living room and snatch my cap off the couch. Turning back to Greg, I say, "I didn't know I'd fallen in love with a vampire."

Greg clears his throat and turns away from me.

"What's wrong?" I ask, taking a step forward. When he doesn't answer, I squeeze his shoulder. "G, come on. What's up?"

After a moment, he turns back to me, his face flushed red and his eyes glassy. "I'm still getting used to you saying you love me."

For a moment, I'm speechless—which actually happens to me a lot where G is concerned. Draping my arms over his shoulders, I pull him close and nuzzle his neck. He smells like coconut and soap. I take in a deep breath of him, and then I whisper in his ear, "Are you trying to make me cry, G? I _am_ a crier."

He laughs into my shoulder. "Sorry, babe."

Pecking him on the lips, I steer him toward the door. "We should go."

"Mm 'kay." Greg twists his neck to look at me over his shoulder. "I'm not kidding. Don't push too hard."

* * *

This morning, when G and I get home, he's going to have to give me a power massage to work out all the knots this day has put into my neck and shoulders. I knew it was going to be tense. Brass made it pretty clear how he feels about my relationship with Greg. But the fact that he was climbing out of his car exactly when Greg practically jumped out of my truck and into my arms pretty much confirmed what he already knew. He kind of shot us a nasty look, shook his head, and walked away. 

So, imagine my discomfort when Grissom decided to send Brass and me to chase down Garret Ames and his family. Apparently, Grissom made little progress on the case during my absence. The Ames' have been noticeably hard to find at home. Our last meeting with them pretty much blew apart the meager bridge of trust I'd built between Ames and me. And Grissom? Ames was turned off by him during our first meeting. Moreover, Susan Briers has taken to stonewalling Grissom as well.

Currently, I'm leaning against the wall across from the DNA lab, trying to ignore the little hand gestures Greg keeps throwing my way. He's an overgrown teenager, but I love him. Against my will, I stand at attention when I see Brass coming.

"Hey, Nicky," Brass says, stopping in front of me. He looks me up and down. "How ya feeling?"

I nod. "All right."

He nods and glances through the window at Greg, who's decided to pick this moment to blow a kiss at me. Letting out a breath, Brass motions for me to follow. "Let's head out."

* * *

I'm sitting in the passenger seat of Brass's car, sparring with the tangled mess he calls a passenger-side seatbelt. 

Scowling at the knotted strand of gray cloth, I turn to Brass. "What are we supposed to be doing?"

Brass shrugs. "Trying to catch the Ames' at home. We still need to talk to that kid."

"Cool," I say, still tugging at the seatbelt.

Brass glances at me, and I see a grin flit across his face. "You need help with that?"

"No," I grumble. "I'm good." After a few seconds, I manage to fasten the belt, but it's tighter than usual. I feel kind of like an idiot right now, so I live with it. The silence, though… that I can't live with. Brass has been pretty quiet since we got into the car, and it's is driving me batty. Generally, I hate conflict, especially with the people I care about. And I care about Jim. The silence keeps reminding me that there's a gargantuan barrier in between us.

Seemingly out of the blue, I take a breath and turn to Brass. "Greg and I are a couple," I say.

He gazes at me, a stunned look on his face. I know how he feels. My little outburst surprised me, too. Nodding, he says, "I figured."

"You're gonna have to deal with that," I say.

"Consider me warned."

I shake my head. "You gonna be like that?"

Brass glances at me. Letting out a breath, he says, "Like what?"

I tighten my jaw. "I thought we were friends, man."

Muttering something under his breath, Brass turns into a drugstore parking lot. He brings the car to a stop and turns to me. After a long awkward moment, he says, "We _are _friends, Nicky. You know I care about you. I just…don't want to see you get hurt, and I think that's gonna happen."

Folding my arms across my chest, I say, "Well, my friends pushing me away because I'm with a man hurts me."

Brass closes his eyes, as if he's either trying to collect his thoughts or rein in his temper. Placing a hand against his chest, he says, "I'm a father, Nicky. And I guess my mind just imagines all the bad things that could happen to you if you and Sanders keep this up."

I laugh. "The last time I slept with a woman, I almost got arrested for murder."

He nods, and then starts flipping through his case notes. He zooms through them too fast to really read any of it. Suddenly, he turns to me and asks, "Do you use protection?"

Oh, there's no way I'm going there with Jim Brass.

I shrug and gaze out the window. "It's Greg," I say.

"That doesn't answer my question."

When I was sixteen, I had a conversation like this with my father. I was going to a movie with my best friend (who happened to be female). It was, as far as my dad knew, my first official date. I wanted to peel my skin off instead of talk to my father about sex, but I swallowed my pride and listened because it seemed to mean so much to him. It was the most embarrassing half hour of my life. "I don't want to talk about this with you," I say to Brass. "I mean, do you really want hear me talk about my sex life?"

Brass gives me a horrified look, as if it just occurred to him that we are, in fact, talking about sex. Throwing up his hands, he says, "I just want you to be safe, Nicky, y'know?"

"I don't sleep around and neither does Greg," I say. "And I'm sorta pissed that you would think either of us do."

"Easy, Nicky. I'm just saying." Popping the glove compartment, he pulls out a pack of gum. "You want some?" I nod, and he hands me a stick of cinnamon gum. "Look, Nicky, I've been around, and people can be physical about this, you know?"

"I know."

Brass clears his throat. "It scares me, Nicky," he says, his voice breaking. He fidgets in his seat and lets out a long breath.

Oh perfect, this is the second person to cry on me tonight. I'll be an emotional wreck by morning.

"It scared me at first, too," I say, trying and failing to keep the tremor out of my voice. "But I'm more scared to be without Greg. I love him, Jim."

Rubbing his eyes, Brass says, "You love him? Well, I guess I just thought you were messing around with him." He gazes out the window for moment, and then he clears his throat again and says, "Look, I want you to be safe, is all."

I unfasten my seatbelt so I can face him and still breathe. "Then let me know you have my back, man," I say. "That's what I need. My stomach's been in knots, worrying about this."

He punches me on the shoulder. "That thing in the break room the other day…I came off way harsher than I wanted to."

"Yeah, I was pretty freaked."

He cocks his head at me. "Well, I was thinking all these things, and I didn't know how to say them. Sometimes, I come off like an ogre, when all I really want is to tell you I'm worried." Leaning a little closer to me, he cuffs my chin. "I got your back."

Swallowing, I say, "Thanks, Jim. I feel better knowing that."

Letting a hoarse chuckle, he says, "You gonna get mushy on me?"

I grin. "Hey, you're the one with wet eyes."

"Yeah." After a few seconds, Brass unfastens his shoulder harness and leans over me. He wrestles with my seatbelt for a few minutes, and then finally, he pulls it out, wrinkled, but no longer tangled. Smirking, he asks. "You want me to strap you in?"

I yank the seatbelt out of his hand. "I'm good, Jim," I grin. "Thanks."


End file.
